Does Fate Allow a Second Chance?
by thelittletree
Summary: This fanfic takes place about ten years after the game and has to do with Vincent and his struggle to become free from his past...with a little help from an original character! (Both finished and edited. Yup.)
1. Prologue

Well, I'm starting this prologue off with an author's note. Bear with me.  
  
This story has already been posted on Fanfiction.net, but at the end of it I threatened everyone with the future prospect of me editing (or perhaps even *gasp* rewriting) certain sections of this fic. And that's what I did / have been doing for awhile. So, things have been tweaked. Like...the ending is a little different. Not drastically. Just...well, just read it if you read it before, and see for yourself what's changed. And if you haven't read it before, well...you obviously won't notice what's different. Ch 30 specifically has undergone some rewriting. Friend of mine accused me of 'losing Elira', and I realized she was right. Elira's the strong one. She stays strong.  
  
Okay, that's it. Thanks to all previous readers and reviewers, and to any future readers and reviewers who may someday stumble over my pet project. Here's the fic...again.  
  
***  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Prologue  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Is there such a thing as fate? Does a higher power hold humanity in the palm of its hand?  
  
Those who don't believe in fate carry a heavy load of responsibility for their own lives, tottering under their burden, looking for a way to step on the other man to get to the top. If the other man lets himself get stepped on, it is his choice of a chance missed. But if the other man reaches up and pulls the first down to use him as a stepping stool, he has taken the chance and used it well. For this man there is no such thing as mercy, as 'lending a helping hand'. His motto is 'Look out for Number One'. Often, this person finds himself at the end of life standing alone on top of his hoarded treasures, a chill wind blowing through his empty soul.  
  
To those who do believe in fate, she is often seen as a changeable force, a mysterious lady who takes pity on one while scorning another, her affections changing as frequently as the wind. She claps her hands together in pleasure, spinning humankind around and around before her, alternately loving and hating until the incurable disease known as death takes her toys away. But birth supplies her with more as the turning globe brings mortals to frailty within a century or less.  
  
Is there such a thing as fate? Or is life simply a string of coincidental events, meetings and partings, based entirely on our own decisions?  
  
In a world of people who believed that fate had willed them to a lifetime of sorrow lived a man named Vincent Valentine.  
  
***  
  
Midgar. A city fated to die while the rest of the planet survived. The belief in this was so strong that even those who didn't believe in fate sometimes found themselves in the bar saying fate had made Midgar possible only to destroy it. Others said the devil had done it. And others said the city had been too evil, and God had plucked it from existance. But, even when beliefs clashed and caused heated arguments, it was unanimously agreed that, no matter what the reason, Midgar was dead never to be rebuilt.  
  
Neo-Midgar emerged not long after, though many had been against the name. Calling the new city after the damned one was like bringing down a curse on it from the beginning, they said. But the name was not to be changed and soon the incensed objections dwindled to murmured prophesies of doom. People migrated from far away places to settle in the near-replica of Midgar, and soon the city thrived. No slums existed there; no plates, no reactors; no Shinra building dominating the view of the sky from the streets. In place of the Shinra building stood an imposing stone structure, the Metropolitan Building, where the representatives from each sector met once a year to discuss what should be done for the good of the city.  
  
Jobs were plentiful, opportunity running rampant for those quick enough to grab it. Many religions were represented within the sectors, though few worshipped fate. The consensus in Neo-Midgar was that people made their own fate. And so, to the rest of the world, it was a fairly heartless place where a man went only if he was ready to step on his fellow man. Those who didn't step were stepped on.  
  
But those who didn't step did exist in Neo-Midgar; and most lived miserably, unwilling to leave the city and their dreams, hoping against hope that fate would be kind to them before the turning of the world brought around their day of death. Those who said they weren't miserable were lying. And those who said nothing felt nothing.  
  
Sector six. MiraCletus. It was not the most populated sector; it was not the most prosperous; but neither was it the worst. It was in the middle with a few of the others, the one people usually forgot about. If a sector was left out of a discussion, it was usually sector six. Named after Mira, a particular budding flower, and Cletus, a prominant constellation, it was fairly uncluttered by the flashy lights of commercialism and dominated chiefly by residential blocks and industrial zones. The commercialism of Neo-Midgar, as a rule, was restricted to Ubanis and Tetrach, sectors two and three respectively. There, you could buy almost anything your mind, heart, or body desired. None of the religious orders set up there, though they glady accepted the money of one whom fate had blessed at the casinos.  
  
Trains and subways ran day and night from sector to sector, racing noisily from one place to another, much like the people they carried, rattling windows and making the taller buildings quiver in their wake.  
  
The buildings in MiraCletus were some of the oldest in Neo-Midgar, almost as old as the city itself. In sectors two and three, a structure was considered ancient if it lived out five years, but in six the oldest building was a non-descript, twelve-story lodging facility. In its tenth year, it was still in fairly good condition. Its apartments were clean and spacious, and once a boarder moved out a new one grabbed it up within the week.  
  
The floors were carpeted thinly in a sidewalk gray material that ran down the halls and spilled into each room like dried cement, covering the bare floorboards underneath with an emaciated layer of matting. The walls and ceilings of each chamber were sanitarium white, the doors a dull, dirt brown. Empty, each apartment was like the ward of a hospital, a place where a man could be put in a strait-jacket and left to lose his mind. Full of furniture, potted plants, hanging pictures, and other trinkets, the rooms became less so as they took on the personality of the renter.  
  
One apartment, however, looked almost as it had before it was rented.  
  
There were no pictures, no plants, no curtains on the windows, none but the most necessary furniture. The most notable features of the apartment were the mismatched bookshelves lining one wall of the living room. Each shelf was haphazardly stacked with books of different sizes and colors, adding dischord to a world of gray and white unpretentiousness, made that way only because of the barrenness of the chamber.  
  
A sound pervaded the silence of the apartment, floating through the empty calm as the only sign of life. A running shower. In the stillness, it seemed somewhat out of place.  
  
The door to the tiny bathroom was closed to keep in the heat. The mirror was fogged with steam and everything else was covered in a blanket of moisture, as if the walls were sweating. A bland white curtain sheltered the tub.  
  
Water hit the linoleum of the bath like needles or pelted against the chest of a pale, lanky man standing with his face to the spout, his eyes closed. Water dripped from the fingertips of his right hand, and from the claw-like digits of the golden metal left arm that had replaced his flesh and bone from the elbow down. Clumped strands of black hair streamed down his shoulders and back.  
  
With slow movements, the man leaned forward, crossing his forearms and resting them on the water-stained tiles. The water fell on his hair, running in rivulets down his face and neck like a downpour of tears, dripping off of his nose and chin.  
  
His burden lay heavy upon him.  
  
Even in sector six, the heavy boot of rivalry existed as one man stepped on another, straining for a site where they could see over their problems to their dreams. Often the younger men could out-step the older ones. There was a factory situated among some decaying buildings, run by an elderly gentleman who'd had it passed down to him from his father, from Midgar. It was not strong enough, not ambitious enough, to fight against the crushing heel of competition. Downsizing was the word the owner had used. The list had been posted on the cafeteria door for all to see. One after another, the men had glanced at it, hoping not to see their name. Some smiled, high-fiving their buddies. Some trudged through the door, shoulders slumped at the realization of how little time two weeks notice really was. This was a recognition they knew no one envied.  
  
Almost the last name on the list, in alphabetical order. Valentine, Vincent.  
  
The water hitting him couldn't dissolve the burden. Vincent twitched his aching shoulders and turned the shower off. 


	2. He Steps In

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter One: He Steps In  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Elira Maddison. She looked at the name on the letterhead and stopped chewing her bagel to smile. Now all she needed was pens. Maddison's Weaponry Station. Here, have a pen. Virna, the sector with the highest crime rate. Come buy a weapon. Keep yourself and your family safe. Hunt animals with our impressive stock of hunting equipment. Hold up shops like this one. Kill those who look at you the wrong way. Raise the crime rate until sector four is completely uninhabitable. She put the back of a hand over her mouth to keep crumbs from spraying onto her stationery as she laughed.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
Elira turned her head and pushed wavy red curls over her shoulders, swearing when a few strands got caught in the buckle of her overalls. A well-built man in a greasy white t-shirt leaned out of the doorway to her right. His lopsided grin and dirty blond hair gave him an almost boyish charm.  
  
Elira turned toward him on the stool and twined her sneakered feet around the metal legs. "Hey, Terry. Just thinking, you know."  
  
The man stepped into the room, his hard brown shoes echoing loudly on the wooden boards of the floor. He slipped around the desk and leaned his elbows on it, one on the stationery. Across from him, Elira frowned and pulled the pad out from under his arm, causing him to slide closer to her. Clearing her throat, she shifted away from her desk, the stationery held protectively to her chest.  
  
"'Bout what?"  
  
"About how much I hate this sector."  
  
His laugh was loud, like his footsteps. "As do we all. Hey, maybe tonight we could close early and I could take you out for supper somewhere. Outside of this sector."  
  
Elira smiled, and maybe it was partially forced. "No. Thanks anyway Ter, but you know how much stuff we've got to do. Hunting season is, after all, almost here."  
  
Terry's smile faded a little and he stood. "How did I know you were going to say that? Well, I guess it's back to work then." He stood in front of her a moment longer than necessary before walking back into the forge. She could hear him calling to a few of the others, his voice a little edged. Sighing, she put the stationery down and picked up the small stack of paperwork she had to do. After straightening it up a little, she glanced at her watch. Almost two. Placing the last bite of her bagel in her mouth, she picked up a pen and scrutinized the first sheet.  
  
The bell on the door chimed. Elira didn't look up at first. Another customer she would have to tell about the season's waiting period. She hoped it wasn't one of the impatient ones.  
  
There were no footsteps. Finally, when her ears tired from straining to hear them, she   
  
glanced up.  
  
It was a cloudy day. She could see that through the windows. Her front office was small, bare, clean, and samples of her wares hung around the room, casting long shadows down the cream-coloured walls. The one lightbulb above her desk was off. She made it a rule never to turn on a light unless it was absolutely necessary. Even the bulbs in the forge were low-watt. She knew it was bad for the eyes, but her concern for her eyes and the eyes of her employees only mattered as far as her revenues carried her.  
  
A man stood a few feet from her desk. It was obvious from his position that he had moved a few steps and she wondered why she hadn't heard his footfalls, hadn't heard the rustle of clothing. But her questions were silenced as her eyes took him in from head to toe.  
  
He had black hair. It wasn't just black; it was midnight, raven, void black. Some wilder strands hung around his pale, sharp-angled, clean-shaven face despite the barrier of a blood-red bandana wrapped around his forehead. His eyes shone piercingly, shone red, and his pupils darted quickly around the room, missing nothing.  
  
His clothing was black, too. A black dress shirt and slacks, and a long black coat shrugged over his thin shoulders; its hem dangled to the tops of dark boots that hugged his legs halfway up to the knee. He also wore a pair of black gloves.  
  
At least, Elira thought they were a pair. Until a glint of something gold caught her eye.  
  
In place of his left hand, he had a mechanical prosthetic.  
  
"Are you hiring?"  
  
It was only when she heard the question, soft and deep, that she realized she had been staring at the metal digits of his left hand. Tearing her curious eyes away, she met his gaze. Something about him made her a little nervous, but in a way she had never been nervous before. Something told her he had been a very dangerous man once. In his strange eyes she saw a story that would probably scare children, break mothers' hearts. And yet, his gaze was sheltered somehow, as if the story was buried down inside of him, locked so that even he could not delve into it easily. Pity and fear battled for her attention. But both were overridden by curiousity as she noticed one of the prosthetic digits twitch.  
  
'It's hooked into the nerve endings in his arm,' she marvelled silently. It would have taken a genius with a working knowledge of technology and biology to install it. It would also take someone with a talent for the technical to keep it in good condition. Flicking her eyes back up to meet his, she smiled a little, swallowing her bite of bagel.  
  
"Maybe." They could use all the help they could get for the hunting season. "Tell me why I should hire you."  
  
The man's expression did not change. "I am very familiar with guns."  
  
Somehow, she was not surprised. "Have you ever forged a gun before?"  
  
"No, but my comprehension of them is extensive. I don't believe I'd have trouble learning."  
  
Elira nodded. When she'd started into this business as an apprentice, she'd had little more than an interest and some experience working in an auto-body shop. But, what she'd possessed had been enough for the previous proprietor to consider teaching her, and then she'd taken the weaponry station over once he'd retired. And now, she could forge a gun faster and more efficiently than anyone she'd ever hired. She loved the way she could shape the metal, putting it together to make a pistol, a rifle, a shotgun. And though she hated hearing about shoot-outs on the news, she loved the feel of a newly made gun in her hands.  
  
She wondered if this man thought the way she did. She wondered if he enjoyed tuning his mechanical hand. She glanced at it again, feeling her fingers itch with the desire to take it apart and see how it worked.  
  
"Ah, I see," she answered. "Well, if you'll just give me your name and phone number, I'll contact you if we have an opening." She placed her paperwork to the side and picked up her stationery pad.  
  
The man didn't say anything for a moment. Elira tried to keep her expectant look from becoming a look of irritation.  
  
"I don't have a phone."  
  
She surprised herself by repressing a sigh. "Well, do you live in this sector? Perhaps I could send someone by to inform you."  
  
"No, I'm from MiraCletus."  
  
Elira put the stationery down, forcebly keeping her fingers from fiddling with the pen. Mustering her confidence against this man, she looked him in his red eyes and asked, "Well, what do you propose we do, then?"  
  
He stared back at her, not flinching, not even blinking. After a small silence, he offered, "I could come by in a few days for your answer."  
  
Elira considered this. She hated having to turn down a prospective employee face to face; it was much less personal, less painful, over the phone. Hearing about the hopeless condition of a man was always less a part of your life than if you witnessed it.  
  
She glanced back at him. His gaze was not expectant and she wondered if he had anything else to do today. If she said nothing to him, would he continue to stand there all day, just looking at her? Though the idea was absurd, she found herself having trouble doubting it.  
  
"Okay, that sounds like an plan. Why don't you come back around this time in a couple of days? That'll give me enough time to think it over." Think it over? She would've cringed had he not been watching her so closely. She made it sound like a personal decision she was making instead of a professional one. But it was personal in a way, she decided. She would have to be around this strange man for the duration of his employment period if she said yes, and that would affect her personally.  
  
And there was something about this man that made her realize that he would want her to keep her distance.  
  
This decision would definitely take a couple of days.  
  
With a courteous nod, the man turned and, without a sound, made his way to the door. She watched in fascination as he used his metal hand to pull the door open. His coat sleeve fell down a few inches, revealing a golden wrist. She stared, interested to know how much of his arm was mechanical. The man departed without one backward glance.  
  
Elira started as a voice said, "That was one of the oddest interviews I've ever seen."  
  
She turned on her stool to look at Terry. "What do you mean?" she demanded.  
  
"Well, you didn't handle it very professionally."  
  
"I did so."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Terry leaned against the frame of the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. "What was his name?"  
  
Elira opened her mouth to answer. And then blinked. She had, indeed, neglected to get that information. Before she could give a suitable retort to Terry, however, he gave a loud bark of laughter and stepped back into the heat of the forge.  
  
***  
  
The next two days passed more quickly than Elira would've liked. Work continued; life continued; the world continued to turn on its axis. And yet, in the moments when she was by herself -- doing paperwork, eating, bathing, lying in bed -- she found herself mulling over the decision she had to make. And yet, no matter how long she thought about it, she came no closer to making up her mind. She wondered if she was taking this too seriously; she hadn't hired someone new in over a year, but she seemed to remember that the decision had never been this hard. She thought it was because the man was strange, because she would be telling him her conclusion face to face.  
  
When she dreamed about him during the second night, after she'd finally coaxed herself to sleep, it made her wonder what it was about him that affected her this way.  
  
If she'd believed in fate, she probably would've thought it was trying to tell her something.  
  
The two days were up. She sat at her desk, nervously flipping a pen back and forth between her fingers, her stomach knotted. That morning, Terry had asked her how she was, commenting on the dark bags under her eyes. She'd replied: "Fine!" so sharply that he'd jumped back as if she'd shot at him. The look on his face as he'd stepped into the forge had made her regret her tone. He was one of the closest people to her, and she'd shoved him off as if his question on her health had been an infringement on her personal space. Oh well. Maybe it would keep him from asking her out for a few nights.  
  
Not that she didn't like him. She just didn't like him that way, plus she wasn't ready for a relationship.  
  
When one thirty rolled around Elira was still unsure of her answer. At one forty-five, she'd twisted almost half of her stationery paper into shreds. At one fifty-seven, she was chewing on her hair, a habit she thought she'd conquered years ago.  
  
Two o'clock.  
  
And then a minute passed two. And then five minutes. As the hands on the clock crawled further and further from the time of the interview, she began to wonder if he would show up at all. She was just beginning to relax her tense muscles when the bell over the door chimed.  
  
And he stepped silently in.  
  
He looked exactly as he had two days ago. Elira wondered idly if he'd changed his clothes since the last time she'd seen him, but upon closer inspection she realized that his dress shirt and pants were a little different.  
  
"Hello again," she greeted him.  
  
He gave a nod of his head. Which was followed by an uncomfortable silence.  
  
Elira cleared her throat. "Well, I'm sure you're anxious to hear my decision so I'll cut right to the chase."  
  
The man didn't look anxious at all. In fact, he looked as if the thought of this job hadn't crossed his mind until he'd stepped in the door.  
  
Elira took a breath. This was it. She had to make a choice. Pushing her hair behind her ears, she looked down at the shreds of paper on her desk as if glancing at notes. "Well, I've decided...to hire you. On a trial basis, you understand. I'll pay you what I'd pay an apprentice until I can judge your skills." She smiled a little. When he didn't say anything in response, she continued on impulse, "Welcome to the team." There was a pen in her right hand. Strangely flustered, she held out her left.  
  
And only when he hesitated did she realize the extent of her faux pas. In place of his left hand was the mechanical prosthetic.  
  
Her fingers trembled. With an apologetic smile and a severe blush, she withdrew her hand.  
  
"When did you want me to start?" he asked after a moment.  
  
Elira glanced up, but then back down at her desk, feeling too foolish to meet his eyes. "Today, if it's good for you."  
  
He nodded. Elira stood and walked out from behind her desk, heading for the forge. Pointing forward without looking to see if he was watching, she said, "This is the forge. If you'll follow me I'll give you the grand tour."  
  
The heat and smell of the forge were reassuring, allowing her to gather her wits. It had always been this way. No matter what was going on in her life, what problems she faced, the forge was always a place of refuge, where she could go and do what she loved to do, forgetting everything else. It was her second home. For the last two days, she'd been here more than at her desk.  
  
Her five employees looked up as she entered and their expressions turned curious. All of them knew she never let a customer beyond the desk.  
  
"Crew, this is..." She stopped suddenly, realizing in embarrassment that she still didn't know this man's name. Thankfully, however, the man himself spoke up, saving her from complete humilation.  
  
"Vincent Valentine."  
  
Elira nodded. "Vincent Valentine," she repeated, liking the way it sounded on her tongue. "I've just hired him to help us finish our quota for the hunting season."  
  
Terry and another man exchanged dubious glances while a third employee whispered something to his collegue, causing them to both turn their heads away, grins on their faces. Benita, a plump, nearing-middle-age'd woman who'd grown up in the slums of the old Midgar, in and out of biker gangs if she was to be believed, was the only one who seemed unperturbed by Elira's decision.  
  
Elira had loved the woman on sight: the way she didn't take any crap from anyone, the way she talked about men as if they were a lower species. She was what Terry called 'a piece of work'.  
  
"Sounds great," Benita spoke up in her grating sandpaper voice. "If ya want, I'll show 'im the ropes."  
  
"Thanks, Benita. And I want the rest of you to help him out; show him where things are, what models we're making for the season, that kind of thing, all right?"  
  
The affirmative response to her statement was unimpressive.  
  
"Pardon?" she asked, putting a hand to her ear.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"'Course."  
  
"Good, thanks guys. I knew I could count on you. I've got a little paperwork to catch up on, but once that's done I'm coming back in to see how you're doing." As Vincent made his way over to where Betina sat at a grease-stained table, Elira pivoted on her heel and walked out. As she passed Terry, standing as he always did at the table nearest the door, she muttered, "Did I handle that professionally enough for you?" But before he could manage a response, she was out the door.  
  
***  
  
The next few weeks were full of surprises for the employer and employees of Maddison's Weaponry Station as the newly hired apprentice showed his stuff. With less coaching than Elira herself had received, he was forging guns as if he had been doing it all of his life. And they were works of art. Once taught how to fashion the designs on the surface, he was making some of the most breathtaking weapons Elira had ever seen. Soon, the customers were noticing his handiwork, and some even began to specifically ask for guns made by him.  
  
It wasn't long before Elira hired him full-time, paying him a salary worthy of anyone with his talents.  
  
A month passed with the ease of a sunset. The shop was doing very well, prospering beyond anything Elira could ever have hoped for. She even invested in lightbulbs of a higher wattage for the forge and started turning on the little bulb above her desk on a cloudy day. Everything was going perfectly, better than her dreams.  
  
And yet, something continued to bother her.  
  
Terry was the one who eventually brought it to her attention. "You know," he began one day after everyone else had gone, "Vincent's kind of odd."  
  
"Odd?" she had replied. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You can't tell me you haven't noticed. He doesn't talk to anyone. He doesn't even look at us. I think I can truthfully say that I don't know him any better than I did the first day he came here."  
  
Elira shrugged it off. If Vincent wanted his privacy, that was his choice. Nothing said they all had to be friends. In any case, she expected that he would grow closer to them as time went on. Some people just took a little longer than others. And with his unusual eye colour, not to mention the metal prosthetic that she had discovered went all the way up to his elbow, maybe he was a little self-conscious.  
  
After that first month, though, when they were still no closer to him, she began to wonder what the problem was. One night, lying in bed in her apartment above the shop, she thought that maybe the reason he kept his distance was because, due to his very nature, others felt compelled to keep their distance from him. Maybe it was just because he was afraid to make the first move.  
  
So she decided to take a step in his direction. 


	3. An Unexpected Visitor

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Two: An Unexpected Visitor  
  
by thelittletree  
  
It was twenty after twelve. Elira put her pen down and rubbed her eyes. She'd been checking over order forms all morning, approving them, and then separating them into two piles: one for Vincent and one for the rest of them. Slipping off of the stool, she stretched her arms over her head, giving a luxurious yawn before peering into the forge.  
  
Since Vincent's arrival, she had decided to close the shop every day between twelve and one to allow her staff a lunch break. So the forge should've been empty.  
  
But Vincent never seemed to need to eat.  
  
He sat at the table closest to the furnace, polishing the cylinder of a revolver he'd finished that morning as he waited for the new molds he'd put over the coals to harden. As Elira took a step through the doorway, he looked up sharply as if unhappy about the intrusion, even though it was her shop and she had a right to go anywhere she wanted. Elira gave him her best smile. He merely looked at her a moment longer before returning to his work.  
  
"You know, you don't have to stay here. There're another forty minutes left of the lunch hour."  
  
"I'm not hungry," he said quietly without looking up.  
  
She shrugged. "You don't have to eat. It's just a time to get away from here for a little while. A break."  
  
He didn't answer, seemingly engrossed in what he was doing.  
  
Elira carefully made her way over to him and with slow movements, as if afraid of scaring him away, pulled a stool over to sit across the table from him. He stopped for a fraction of second as she put her elbows on the table, looking at him, but then continued polishing the cylinder as if it required his full attention.  
  
"I know of a neat little cafe a few doors down," Elira started after a moment, watching as he put the cylinder down and started running the cloth along the barrel of the gun. "They serve fresh donuts and cappucinnos with chocolate sprinkles. Did you want to check it out with me?"  
  
He placed the cloth and barrel onto the tabletop and, using his metal fingers, pulled the molding tray out of the furnace. After inspecting the parts, he slid the tray back over the coals, dipping the fingertips of his prosthetic into a barrel of water to his left. "No, thank you."  
  
Elira sighed quietly through her nose. This was not progressing as well as she had hoped. Contrary to her earlier idea of him, he seemed quite content with the distance he had placed between himself and others, not unwilling to make the first step as she had first believed, just unwilling altogether. And despite her previous claims that he had a right to his privacy, she found herself, like Terry, becoming a little indignant.  
  
"I don't bite, you know," she said, adding a slight edge to her good-humored tone.  
  
Vincent flicked his eyes up and then back down before resuming his labor on the barrel of the revolver. "I know."  
  
Elira sighed again, containing the temper Terry was always bugging her about. "Well, then what's the problem? Am I a personality type you can't stand? Is it my breath? What?"  
  
He put the revolver barrel and cloth down again to check on the molds. Deciding that they were ready, he placed the molding tray on the burner pad and removed a cylinder piece that looked like an exact replica of the one he had been polishing. After glancing over it once, he dipped it into the barrel of water. The cylinder hissed and a trail of steam curled upward slowly, encircling his arm.  
  
"It's not you. It's me."  
  
Elira frowned. What kind of an answer was that? Torn between anger and pity, two of the emotions he seemed to evoke most often in her, she was about to demand what he meant by his cryptic response when the bell over the front door chimed. Elira looked over her shoulder as Terry entered the forge, a smile on his face. The smile faded, though, when he saw Elira leaning on the table across from Vincent. Elira sat up quickly, smoothing down her shirt even though it didn't need it.  
  
"Hey," Terry greeted them in a somewhat subdued voice.  
  
"Hey, Ter. What are you doing back so early?" Elira cursed inwardly herself for asking him that. If he wanted to come back early from his lunch break, it was his choice. And, just by asking him, she had given him reason to suspect that there was something going on between she and Vincent. She didn't want him thinking that. Maybe she didn't want to date him, but that didn't mean she wanted to make him jealous or hurt his feelings. He was still one of her closest friends.  
  
"What, you want me to leave?" Terry asked, chuckling, though Elira could see that her question had, indeed, pained him.  
  
"No, of course not. I was just wondering."  
  
"Ah, of course. Oh, by the way, I bought you one of those mocha coffee-things you like so much." He raised a plastic lidded styrofoam cup into the air. "Still warm."  
  
Elira smiled and approached him, taking the drink from his hand. "Thanks, Ter. You're so sweet."  
  
He grinned and shrugged. "Ah, hey. You know. Just thinking of my favorite girl." He sauntered over to the lathe where he'd been fashioning a piece for the long wooden barrel of a rifle that morning. As he readied the lathe to continue his work, Elira heard him say, "Hey there, Vince. How're ya doing?"  
  
Vincent didn't answer.  
  
"Oh, good," Terry proceeded as if Vincent had made a reply. "How am I? Oh, I'm fine, too, thanks for asking."  
  
Elira frowned again, this time at Terry's behavior. What was it about men? "Leave him alone, Ter," she found herself saying.  
  
Terry didn't turn to look at her, but said nothing more. Heaving a sigh of pent up irritation, she removed the lid of her drink before taking a sip. It was still warm; the heat and flavor soothed her a little. Nursing the drink in her hand, she walked back into the front room of her shop.  
  
By the time one o'clock rolled around, the other employees were back from lunch and the shop was ready to re-open.  
  
Elira was just finishing up the order forms when the bell over the door sounded. The heavy clomp of boots was heard as a tall, well-built, dark-skinned man entered. Elira's smile transformed into a wide grin as she recognized him. He laughed.  
  
"Hey there, sweet-thang!"  
  
Elira did her best to make her expression admonishing. "Barret, you know I hate you calling me that."  
  
Barret Wallace shrugged, taking long strides up to her desk. "Sorry. Can't say yer real name. Just hearing it outta my own mouth melts me." He chuckled as a blush coloured her cheeks.  
  
"Barret!" she scolded, attempting to bring her embarrasment back under control.  
  
He continued to chuckle for a moment as he let his eyes roam the front room of her shop. "You've changed the place a little," he commented.  
  
Elira nodded, herself looking around as if to see for the first time what she and Terry had spent a weekend doing. In light of the coming hunting season, the usual assortment of decorative weapons had been replaced with various shotguns, each a splendid model. Most of the models had been done by Vincent, Terry had observed rather tightly. Elira had asked him if he was jealous of Vincent's natural talent, but Terry had replied, "Not his talent." Elira hadn't been sure of how to take his words. So maybe she had been spending a little more time with Vincent than with the rest of her employees, but that was only because he was new. Besides, it wasn't as if she knew him any better for it. Terry had no foundation for his jealousy and if he wanted their friendship to last, she thought, he would be wise to shape up.  
  
"Yeah, a few things around here have changed."  
  
Barret nodded. "Around my place, too," he mumbled, leaning his right elbow on her desk. And then he began to drum his fingers. After a moment of this, Elira glanced at his arm in irritation, about to remind him of how much that annoyed her. But the words died in her mouth. He was drumming his fingers. The fingers of his right hand. His right hand.  
  
Barret watched out of the corner of his eye as Elira's jaw dropped, his lips contorting.  
  
"Barret," she managed a little breathlessly after a moment. "Wh...what...?"  
  
"What happened to my gun?" he finished for her. Smiling mysteriously, he turned to face her. "Well, I know it's 'bout ten years too late, but I finally traded it in for this 'lectric contraption."  
  
Elira couldn't believe it. After telling him he should get rid of that grafted gun every time he came in to upgrade it, and having him shrug off her words every time, the stubborn blockhead finally went out and had it done. She wondered how long he had debated the change; she hadn't seen him in here in over three months. "What finally converted you?" she asked. "Did one of my long-winded sermons finally get through that thick skull of yours?"  
  
Barret scoffed. "No. Actually, it was a bunch a things. Maybe yer 'sermons' were one of 'em, I dunno. But, well..." He ran a hand over the close-cropped hair at the back of his head as he hesitated. "It's been ten years since I was in Avalanche. When I was a part of that, I felt...like I was doing some'n with my life that was gonna make a difference to the world. But then, afterwards, when I got back together with Marlene and tried to start a normal life, I found it really...humdrum. You know, boring." He sighed and rolled his eyes. "And, instead of settlin' down and waiting to get used to the change, I tried to convince myself that some'n else was coming, some other disaster that would need me. And so I kept the arm." He smiled ruefully. "I didn't realize how obsessed I was with fighting until real recently. Came home early from work to find Marlene 'bout to chop off her right arm just below the elbow."  
  
Elira was unable to stifle a gasp. She put her hands over her mouth. "Oh no, Barret..."  
  
Barret nodded and absently scratched the back of his neck, a sign of flustered shame. "Got home in time to stop her, thank God. As soon as I'd gotten the knife away from her, she began bawlin'. I asked her what she had been thinking of doing. And she said she'd wanted to cut off her arm so that she could get a gun grafted in, just like me. That way, she'd be safe from the wars when they came back."  
  
Elira blew her breath out. "My god, Barret. I can't believe Marlene was able to even think of cutting off her arm!" She shuddered, imagining of the blood that would gush out of a wound like that.  
  
Barret shrugged. "Well, she hasn't 'xactly had the best upbringing a girl can have. I prob'ly should've remarried a long time ago. A girl like Marlene needs a mother."  
  
Elira was almost more surprised to hear Barret say that than to see the automated latex hand where his gun had been. A few months ago, he had been 'both mother and father, and Marlene's fine with that!'. The one time she'd tried to set Barret up with Benita, he had rejected the idea so forcefully you'd have thought she was offering to take Marlene and feed her to a Midgar Zolan. She'd never brought it up again.  
  
Elira realized that her shock must've been showing on her face, for Barret chuckled and said, "Yeah, well takin' care of her the way I have been for so long has been takin' its toll." He ran a hand over his stubbly beard, drawing attention to the white dotted through it. Elira could also see the white beginning to track through his hair, and she thought she detected a few new creases around his eyes. "I'm forty-five this year, after all. It's gettin' tough to take care of her by myself, and it's only gonna get tougher as she gets older."  
  
Elira nodded her agreement, remembering her own restless adolencent years with only a father to take care of her. And then she smiled slyly. "Well, Benita's still available if you're looking."  
  
Barret gave a sudden loud laugh, startled out of his sobriety by her comment.  
  
Elira grinned and played with the edge of an order form. "So, you had a day off today and came by to see me?"  
  
"Well..." He shrugged. "I was in the neighbourhood, an' I wanted to try out my new pick-up line." He chuckled quietly when she made a face at him. "And, of course, to show you my new hand. But, also, it was 'cause I heard a rumor that you hired someone new."  
  
"You heard a rumor?" she asked in surprised pleasure. She wondered how far her small shop's fame had spread. If Barret had heard a rumor in sector one, three sectors down, who was to say that people in sector eight weren't talking about the goings on of her little business?  
  
"Yeah. They say this fella is making the best guns in all of Neo-Midgar. They also say that no one's ever seen 'im, that he never comes out of the forge."  
  
Elira nodded. "Yeah, he really doesn't like interacting with the customers."  
  
"Some say," Barret continued, "that he's some kind of a freak and that's the reason he never lets anyone see him."  
  
Elira raised an eyebrow, wondering how far that was from the truth.  
  
"Some say you have him chained up back there, as yer slave." Barret winked and grinned.  
  
Elira scoffed and waved her hand in front of her face. Maybe having rumors like these ones circulating around Neo-Midgar wasn't such a great thing. Then again, if they had been enough to bring Barret up from sector one when he wasn't even here to get a weapon, maybe they'd be enough to bring others, intrigued by the stories, into her little shop.  
  
"Some say he doesn't really exist, that it's just a ploy to bring in customers."  
  
Elira frowned indignantly. This was getting ridiculous. Obviously, rumors like that one weren't going to help her as much as she'd thought.  
  
"Some say..." Barret continued, but Elira held up a hand to halt him.  
  
"Barret, what's the point you're trying to make?"  
  
Barret just smiled. "Some say his name's Vincent."  
  
"Yeah, so?"  
  
"A pale fella?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Wears black all the time?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Has red eyes?"  
  
She raised a surprised eyebrow. "That's right."  
  
"And a claw fer a left arm?"  
  
"Yeah! How did you know all of that, Barret?"  
  
Barret's mysterious smile returned. "I know the guy. Well, I knew him. Thought it might be him and thought I'd check it out."  
  
Elira nodded slowly, still a little confused. As things started to sort themselves out, though, she began to wonder what a guy like Barret and a man like Vincent would have in common. Vincent must've been at least somewhat close to the man or Barret wouldn't have come looking for him. And then she started, standing hesitantly from her stool. "Do you...do you want me to go get him for you?"  
  
Barret shrugged. "Sure. I'd like to see him again, see how he's doin'."  
  
Elira nodded once more and made her way into the forge.  
  
The sound of the lathe had been present all day as Terry worked on the barrels of a set of rifles he was preparing, but it had become so constant that Elira had unconciously tuned it out. Now it blared in her ears like the buzzing of hundreds of bees. Fighting the urge to put her hands over her ears, she walked over to where Vincent sat, a finished revolver in his hand. Elira stopped a few steps in front of him to watch him inspect it.  
  
It was beautiful, flawless, a real work of art, even without the designs on it, which was the next step. But her attention was drawn away from it as Vincent continued his examination. He turned it in his hands in a way Elira had never seen anyone handle a gun. He handled it not only with a caution born of an appreciation for things beautiful, but with with a certain wary respect, as if he knew something about it beyond the way it was made and the way it fit together. As if he knew intimately what it was for.  
  
Elira started as Vincent looked up at her suddenly, his red eyes searching her face. Elira felt her cheeks become hot at his scrutinizing gaze and dropped her eyes, ashamed to have been caught staring. Rasing her voice over the noise of the lathe, she said, "There's a Barret Wallace to see you in the front room. He says he knows you."  
  
Vincent's expression didn't change even a fraction, but he did stand from his stool and start to make his way over to the door. Elira followed him as far as the last table, but then stopped, deciding that if they were really old friends, they would probably like a moment to talk together alone. But, as the talking began, she found herself unable to deny her curiousity. Inching forward and trying not to look obvious about it, she headed for the door frame, intent on staying out of sight even though she was close enough to hear every word, the lathe droning away behind her.  
  
"Hey there, Vince! Long time, no see! You look exactly the same as when I last saw you! Where've you been?"  
  
"Around. Here, mostly, in Neo-Midgar."  
  
"Really? Shit, man! I've lived here fer the ten years it's been built and I've never seen you 'round!"  
  
"Neo-Midgar is a big place."  
  
"Yeah, I know. A good place to get lost in. Well, you did manage to lose us for a while there, but lemme tell ya, none of us have forgotten you. A few of us thought you were dead, but none of us forgot."  
  
"How nice to know."  
  
Elira almost expected to hear Barret get angry at the obvious sarcasm in Vincent's words, but Barret only gave a laugh.  
  
"Well, Vince, you can pretend you don't care, but I'm gonna go on as if you do. I dunno what it's been like for you, but for me and the others ten years has gone by real fast. Marlene's already fourteen. Cloud and Tifa're married and they're living in Kalm with the two kids they've got. Aeris and Doria, their daughters, are...lemme see, I think Aeris' eight and Doria's five. Nothing much is happening with Red; he's just takin' care of Cosmo Canyon. I go see him 'bout once every year. Cid married Shera after all that crap he spouted 'bout hating her and everything, and now they've got a son. Reeve's the representative fer my sector, sector one. He's a family man now, too, but fer the life of me I can't remember his wife and kid's names. And Yuffie's running the show in Wutai. Her dad, Godo, died about a year ago. Yeah, she's grown up a bit."  
  
Elira found herself somewhat lost within the conversation, confused by the names of people she had never met, and would probably never meet. This feeling of being on the outside looking in reminded her, oddly enough, of her mother's funeral. She could remember sitting in the hall of the funeral home, staring up as all of the tall people had filed into the room where the service was to be conducted. No one had spared her a glance. A few had even stumbled over her. While they were all in the room, she'd sat playing with some wilted flowers she'd found in the garbage, the murmur of the priest's words floating passed her ears like so much air. Though she couldn't consciously remember feeling left out, she must've felt it. Her daddy had pushed her out of his lap, telling her with red and puffy eyes that her mommy had gone on a long trip. She'd smiled, hoping her mother would bring her back something nice.  
  
Elira was startled out of her distant memory as Barret said hotly, "I'm not saying you should move, I'm just saying that you could visit us. Hell, some of us live in Neo-Midgar already, you don't even have to leave the city!"  
  
Elira wondered suddenly if, perhaps, Vincent had been part of Avalanche, one of those nine people that Barret had talked about before. One of the ones who had fought with him against that evil creature Jenova. But no, that wasn't possible. Vincent didn't look like he could be over thirty, so he would've been twenty or under when accompanying Barret and the others. And though that might've been, Barret didn't talk to him as if he remembered him as 'just a kid'. Elira knew that she would always be a kid in Barret's eyes. He had met her four years ago when she was nineteen, and although she had grown so much in those four years, at least in her own eyes, Barret could not change his attitude toward her. She was Elira, the little girl, to him. And so she would always be. That was just Barret's way. So why would it be so different with Vincent?  
  
Feeling frustrated at the number of questions she was now faced with when she had sort of been anticipating answers, she gripped the door frame in her fingers, listening in the hope that someone would say something that would clear anything up.  
  
But the conversation seemed to be over.  
  
"That there's my address, and the address below it is Cloud and Tifa's in Kalm," Barret was saying, sounding kind of defeated. "If you ever change your mind, you know where to find us. Well, it's been good to at least see that yer alive, Vince. I'm gonna tell the others where you are just in case they want to drop by, and don't tell me not to 'cause I'm going to anyway. Hope you have a nice life." Elira could hear Barret's heavy footfalls leading him away. Then the bell over the door chimed. And all was silent.  
  
And then Vincent walked through the door of the forge, his steps as muffled as if he were walking barefoot on carpet. Elira jumped with a gasp and stumbled backward a step or two, losing her balance. Before she could fall, though, landing hard on her behind on the cement floor of the forge, Vincent shot out a hand, grabbing her wrist as she windmilled, pulling her up until he had righted her. His grip was firm, but not painfully so. It felt strange to have him touch her when he barely spoke to her. The red eyes she met with her own were not angry, or accusing, or even amused at her eavesdropping. They were emotionless, as if he couldn't care less what she had heard. As if it didn't matter in the least.  
  
The man was a mystery.  
  
"Thank you," Elira managed to say as she regained her feet. Vincent nodded only once before letting go of her wrist and heading back toward his aborted projects. Elira watched him for a few moments in consternation before going back into the front room. A mystery wrapped in a puzzle encased in an enigma, and somehow she knew there was no easy answer or simple explanation for Vincent Valentine. 


	4. In Her Apartment

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Three: In Her Apartment  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Elira yawned as she entered the small apartment she had above her shop, not even bothering to remove her sneakers. She was starving. The mocha coffee Terry had bought her at lunch had been the only thing she'd had all day and it had gone right through her. Coffee always did. She opened the fridge, squinting at the glow the lightbulb shed in the darkness of her kitchen, and rummaged through half-heartedly. Nothing struck her as particularly appetizing. She hadn't been shopping yet this week; making a mental note to go to the market tomorrow on her lunch hour, she closed the refrigerator door with a foot.  
  
The living room was dark, the only illumination coming from a streetlight in front of the shop, its gentle radiance filtering through her curtains. Stepping carefully around an armchair, and then an end table, she came to a standing lamp. Pulling the small chain attached to the bulb beneath the shade, she turned it on. The room was small, stuffed with a couch, a fair-sized wall unit, and other various pieces of furniture. Elira surveyed it contentedly, sighing. Home. Even though her livingroom was just about as tidy as such a cramped room could get, Elira began to straighten the cushions and smooth down the afghan that hung over the back of her sofa, wasting time until she could decide if she felt like going to bed. As she stood up, looking over her handiwork, her stomach gave an irritated rumble.  
  
And Elira decided to go out for supper.  
  
It was after nine o'clock and a weeknight, so the streets were fairly deserted. Elira walked along the sidewalk with her coat collar pulled up almost to her nose, her breath filtering through her zipper in visible clouds. It was a chilly evening for spring, but Elira didn't mind it that much. The cold usually dissuaded a number of the muggers of Virna from plying their trade too vigorously. Still, she attempted to muffle her footsteps as she walked so as not to draw attention to herself.  
  
Most of the stores near her shop were closed now, turning in fairly early so that the workers could get home before the criminal element started coming out of their greasy holes. Elira was starting to realize how futile it had been to come out so late. She was just about to turn around and go back home when she saw some illuminated windows at the end of the block. So she kept walking. She was somewhat surprised when she found that the store still open for business was the new cafe. Either the owner here had more guts than the rest of them, or he didn't know how dangerous it was to be open so late. But, whatever the reason, their doors were accepting weary customers as they came off of their trains, wandering over from the station not even a street away.  
  
Despite the number of people in the cafe, the atmosphere was quiet, subdued. Two young men who looked like punks sat on stools at the counter. A homeless beggar slept soundly on the padded bench by the pay phone. A few of the tables were taken up, but mostly by people sitting alone and nursing cups of coffee in their weary hands, enjoying a moment of solitude before returning home.  
  
Elira gave an audible gasp when she saw that one of these was Vincent.  
  
He sat facing her, though his eyes lingered on the window. He had no coffee. Elira wondered what in the world would've brought him here. He did not seem the type of man who would waste time in a coffeeshop. Curious, she considered whether or not he would accept a little company. She still felt self-conscious about listening in on his conversation with Barret, but he hadn't seemed bitter about it. In fact, when he'd startled her while re-entering the forge, he'd caught her by the wrist to keep her from falling. If it had been Terry listening in on something she was saying, she would've let him fall on his ass. It would've served him right.  
  
But Vincent seemed above all that. Above petty little squabbles. It was as if he had known grudges that went as deep as the soul, and therefore anything in comparison was worth less than nothing.  
  
This was an opportunity to get to know him, she realized, if getting to know him was actually possible. She'd wanted to take him here earlier; she'd be a fool to ignore this second chance.  
  
If she'd have believed in such things, she might've believed that this was fate's doing.  
  
Elira walked quickly to the table. Vincent must've expected her to just hurry by, since the restrooms were down a hallway behind him, for he didn't look up at her until she'd slipped into the seat opposite him. She might as well have been a complete stranger for the amount of recognition his expression registered.  
  
"Hi, Vincent," she said, her voice appropriately low for the noise level in the cafe. He gave a nod of his head before glancing out the window again. No questions about what she was doing here. No mention of how dangerous it was for a young woman to be walking alone at this time of the evening. Not even the remotest effort at starting a conversation. Elira gave a sigh, realizing that it was wholly up to her. He had no interest in getting close to anyone.  
  
"So, what brings you here? I thought you always went straight home after work?" It was a valid question, she decided.  
  
"I missed the train," Vincent replied quietly, not looking away from the window.  
  
Elira nodded, inwardly smiling. Though it wasn't much information, it was still a start, a little more to add to what she'd received since her interview of him a month ago. 'I'm familiar with guns...my knowledge is extensive...I don't have a phone...I'm from MiraCletus...'  
  
'...I know a man named Barret...I take a train home...'  
  
"That's too bad," Elira remarked. "If I had a car, I'd offer you a ride."  
  
Vincent said nothing. Elira followed his gaze to the train station.  
  
"So, when's the next train due to arrive?"  
  
Vincent continued to stare out into the darkness, his reflection dimly visible in the glass. "Soon."  
  
"Oh." Elira's gaze slipped to the table top as she wondered what to say next. They had pretty well covered the train-thing, so it was time to move onto a new topic. But what else was safe, professional? Maybe if she just talked shop for a few minutes it would urge him to respond. After all, it would just be two people discussing work; there would be nothing personally involving about it. "Well, Vincent, I have to admit that I am very impressed with your work."  
  
Vincent lowered his head a little. Elira stared at him, puzzled. Had the compliment made him uncomfortable? She sighed inwardly. This was getting them nowhere, and the way he ignored every attempt she made at conversation was starting to grate on her. Something told her he'd probably been hurt by others one too many times, something like that, and now he found it safer just to avoid people altogether. Something else told her she should probably leave him alone.  
  
But isolating yourself was the coward's way out. That's what the gunsmith had told her.  
  
With renewed purpose, Elira took a breath. Vincent had resumed his watch of the outside world. Undaunted, she began to speak. "You should take notice when I give a compliment; I don't give them very often. Unless I really mean them. I mean, I've been making guns since I was nineteen, but I have never seen anyone make anything the way you do. Even with the handicap your prosthetic must sometimes present, you're still the best craftsman I've ever run across." Elira was surprised that she could mention his metal arm at all, but she didn't give herself a moment to reflect on it. "The way you painstakingly check to make sure that the gun you've made is faultless, too. I had to teach the others that, but you do it on your own. Where did you learn so much about guns?" She took a breath and waited.  
  
Vincent had taken his gaze from the window to look at her, and there was something in his red eyes. Almost...a question. In a moment, however, he looked away again without answering.  
  
Was he surprised that she was still talking to him? She imagined that most people, upon getting no response the first time, usually left him alone.  
  
But there was something about him that reminded Elira of herself, a self she had left behind more than two years ago. A girl, hurt and lonely, but too afraid to approach others. Afraid because of what had happened. And if it hadn't been for the prodding and prying of others, she was positive she would still be that girl.  
  
Maybe it was her turn to be that 'prodding other' for someone else. He liked guns? Maybe he would be interested in the thing that had become a point of contact between herself and the old gunsmith. "I have a book that was passed down to me by the previous owner of the shop. It's a very old book, a detailed history of forging that shows a lot of old guns and explains what they were made for and in which time periods. It even has some instructions on how to make some of the obsolete models. I'm still trying to perfect my technique on a couple of them." She smiled a little as she thought about her first poor attempt at forging a very, very old gun. It had been so unlike anything she'd ever made before that it had turned out terribly. But, even outdated, it was a beautiful book, and so intriguing. When she'd first come to live with the gunsmith in his tiny apartment, she'd seen the book lying on a shelf, its two covers sealed together with a small clasp that could only be opened with a key. The gunsmith had told her not to touch it because it was very old and very special. But she'd been unable to resist. Not two weeks after she'd moved in, she'd discovered a way to pick the lock. "Everyone in the forge has seen it already, except for you," she continued after a moment. "It's not mandatory that you see it, of course, but if you're interested you could come up to my apartment sometime to look at it." She smiled encouragingly.  
  
Vincent made no response. Elira was tempted to show her irritation, but she held herself in check. Besides, she rationalized, it probably wouldn't do anything anyway. He'd just keep staring at her with those red, unreadable eyes.  
  
There was nothing more to say. Elira admitted that she felt a little foolish. Maybe it was time to excuse herself and go home. But, just as she was about to stand and bid Vincent a safe trip, Vincent got to his feet. Elira watched him, and then turned her head to see that a number of the other patrons were getting up, ready to leave. She glanced out of the window. The train had arrived.  
  
"Goodnight, Vincent. See you in the shop tomorrow."  
  
Vincent gave an acknowledging nod and slipped into the recess between the tables and the bar. Within a few moments, he was gone.  
  
Elira sighed and sank down in her seat, wondering if she'd just given Vincent more reason to shrink from further contact. With a deft finger, she flipped a curly wisp of her hair behind an ear and prepared to leave. But then her stomach rumbled. And she remembered why she'd come here in the first place.  
  
***  
  
The train was almost empty. The stop at G'nais, sector five, had unloaded most of the passengers, and now only a few tired-looking people sat scattered about the cars, staring into their laps or out the dingy windows. No one was inclined to open their mouths, even to breath. Every few minutes someone would cough or shift in their seat but other than that there was silence, except for the constant noise of the train. And that seemed to suit everyone just fine. Each person had retreated into their mind, thinking about home, a warm bed, food. And, if only for a moment, they weren't miserable, slowly being rocked into complacency by the movement of the train.  
  
Vincent wiped a spot on the window clear with the cuff of his sleeve. Right now, they were on one of the many bridges in Neo-Midgar, passing over the eastern side of sector five, heading for MiraCletus. Few lights dotted the darkness below. The night life of G'nais consisted mainly of those affiliated with gangs, which urged everyone else to withdraw into the safety of their houses, into the ignorant bliss of sleep. After another moment of gazing down on the sector, Vincent withdrew from the window.  
  
A book. A book of guns, passed down through the generations. A book detailing guns, with pictures of guns, telling the history of guns. Vincent wondered how many of the guns he'd used in his life were in that book.  
  
But no. He wasn't interested.  
  
Perhaps if it had a similar picture, he could make another Death Penalty to make up for the one he'd lost.  
  
No. He shouldn't be interested.  
  
If only he hadn't lost it after the battle so many years ago while they'd been clinging to life in the dying Highwind. If only he had it now. It had been the most accurate, most powerful, most intriguing weapon he'd ever wielded. If only he still had it to hone his skills with. He could almost feel the perfect weight of it in his hands.  
  
No! He couldn't let himself be interested. He couldn't go to her apartment. He needed to stay apart from others. History had taught him that.  
  
He'd ended up giving parts of himself away in Avalanche. And, though he'd cut all ties Barret had found him, and now the others would know. He cringed inwardly.  
  
He had to stay apart. It was the only way to protect himself, to protect them.  
  
And so, he wasn't interested.  
  
His apartment was dark. He liked it that way. Without removing his coat or his boots, he went to one of his bookshelves and selected a maroon, hard-cover book. Opening it to a bookmarked page he began to read, his red eyes able to see the words without aid in the dark. He wandered into the bedroom, still reading. A moment later, he exited and put the book back where he'd found it.  
  
He wasn't interested.  
  
He selected another book. Opening it to a random page, he began to read. A moment later, he shut it with a snap, placing it back on the shelf.  
  
He wasn't interested.  
  
Another book. He glanced at the title written on the spine. And then put it back. With a sigh, he massaged his forehead.  
  
He was more than interested.  
  
***  
  
The next day went by quickly. After his batch of rifles were finished, Terry decided to make the first shotguns of the season, though it really was a little early still. Elira didn't mind. The quicker a jump they got on it, the easier a taskmaster she could afford to be.  
  
As Terry and a couple of the others worked on guns for stock, Elira assigned herself, Benita, and Vincent to filling the orders for guns. The number of orders for Vincent was almost equal to the collective amount she gave to Benita and herself , but it wasn't a problem for him. His proficiency at making beautiful weapons made him a quick worker. By the end of the day, the orders were coming along at a better pace than expected, which meant the customers would be pleased. And that made Elira pleased.  
  
The only thing that didn't please her about the best day she'd ever had at work had to do with Vincent.  
  
She'd woken up that morning feeling foolish about what she'd done last night. Talking to Vincent had been a mistake, she was sure of it. Her misgivings had only increased when she'd seen him at work and, instead of giving his customary nod, he'd completely ignored her. And to compound on that, when she'd stepped into the forge to check on her molds, she'd turned to find Vincent staring at her, a strange look in those crimson eyes. A wary sort of look. It didn't make her think he was about to open up to her anytime soon. And that made her feel inexplicably depressed.  
  
As she straightened up the order forms on her desk, sorting them by priority as she got ready to leave, Benita came out of the forge and stopped beside the desk. Elira glanced up, but then lowered her eyes. She really didn't feel like talking right now.  
  
"Hey, Lir," Benita began in her scratchy voice. "You okay? You look sorta down."  
  
Elira shrugged, banging the edges of the order forms on her desk again to get them to fall into place. "I'm fine."  
  
"Ya sure?"  
  
Then Terry came out of the forge, stomping out his unmistakable steps. "Hey, Elira. I'd stick around tonight, but my brother roped me into watching his kids. I'll call you this evening, all right?" With that, he leaned over her desk and gave her a swift, rough kiss on the cheek. "See ya tomorrow." His heavy footsteps continued until he was out of the shop and down the street a few paces. The other men of her forge, excluding Vincent, then left for the night, saying their farewells. Elira tried to make her friendly smile convincing for them.  
  
But Benita was still standing there. Elira tried to ignore her, attempting to look busy.  
  
"Okay, what's wrong?" she asked suddenly after a few seconds of waiting.  
  
"It's nothing."  
  
Benita sighed. "Oh boy," she said knowingly. "Man trouble. I recognize that tone when I hear it. Okay, who's the fella and what'd he do?"  
  
Elira chuckled suddenly and looked up, shaking her head a little. "Do you always think every trouble a woman has is because of men?"  
  
"Isn't it true?"  
  
Elira laughed quietly, putting the order forms down before she ruined them and sitting herself on her stool. "I don't know what my problem is, Beni. I just...I don't know."  
  
Benita huffed and crossed her short, pudgy arms over her chest. "I know what yer problem is. You've got Terry bugging ya when it's obvious yer not interested!"  
  
Elira shook her head again. "No, that's not it. I can deal with that. This is...something different."  
  
Benita's eyes lit up mischeviously and she leaned in toward Elira. Out of curiousity, Elira leaned forward as well.  
  
"Is it the new guy?"  
  
"Is what the new guy?"  
  
Benita sighed in exasperation. "I mean, are ya crushing on the new guy?"  
  
Elira shot backward with a laugh, the stool rocking underneath her. "What? No!"  
  
"Shh!" Benita shushed her furiously. "He's still in the forge."  
  
Elira controlled herself and leaned in again.  
  
"C'mon, I'm bein' serious. Are ya? I'm kinda 'ttracted to him."  
  
Elira's eyebrows flew upward. "No way. I thought you hated men."  
  
Benita scowled. "I don't hate 'em. I just hate it when they do some'n annoying. Which is almost always." She gave a sigh and flipped a strand of graying hair out of her eyes. "There's just some'n about a 'mysterious man'. I dunno. That's what made me join those bikers when I was a kid. The mystery of 'em." She gave a secretive smile as she added, "Besides, I always liked 'em tall and skinny."  
  
Elira couldn't help giving another laugh. Benita's way of thinking was so foriegn to her; she'd probably never understand the older woman.  
  
"Well," Benita said, her voice at its normal volume again, "if you don't feel like tellin' me what's wrong, that's yer decision. I guess I'll be goin' now. You take care o' yerself."  
  
"I will. You, too."  
  
Benita smiled and took a peek into the forge before heading out the door.  
  
Elira picked up the order forms and straightened them again, though they didn't need it. In fact, she realized that she was bending the ends of the pages with the banging she was giving them on her desk. With a determined air, she set the papers down and resolved to stop fidgeting. Vincent usually gave her less than a nod before leaving after work. Maybe tonight he wouldn't even look at her. And then, once he was gone, she could lock the door, go upstairs into her apartment, eat, take a bath, go to bed, and stop thinking about that stupid, stupid conversation in the cafe! After all, he wasn't her responsibility. She had done what she could by trying to talk to him. If he didn't want to open up it was his decision. If she'd rushed him, it had been accidental, done with good intentions.  
  
Why was this bothering her so much?  
  
But she knew why. If the gunsmith had tried to force her to open up it would have chased her away, and where would she be now?  
  
But it wasn't her fault. She did her best to convince herself that it was the truth. It wasn't her fault if they found his body under a train...  
  
...the body of a man...almost unrecognizable...  
  
...almost...except for the ring on his finger...  
  
Elira shook her head violently. She wouldn't get into those memories. Not tonight. Not when she was already feeling horrible. She wouldn't be able to handle them. She wouldn't be able to handle the guilt...  
  
Elira realized her hands were shaking. She clasped them together to keep them from trembling, but it didn't really work. Inside, she felt empty, though her stomach was bloated as if with tears that were just waiting for the right moment to surface. She wished she had Barret with her right now.  
  
Vincent stepped out of the forge soundlessly. Elira looked up, somewhat startled by his appearance, though she probably should've been used to the way he made barely any sound as he walked.  
  
He didn't look at her as he made his way to the door. At the door, however, with one hand out to open it, he stopped. The digits of his prosthetic clenched and then unclenched, but that was the only movement he made for a few seconds. Elira began to wonder what was wrong. He almost looked...indecisive, and that was an odd thing for him. He was always so purposeful and efficient in everything he did; even when he hesitated to answer questions, it was almost as if he did it for the effect, the response already on the tip of his tongue.  
  
Slowly, he reached out with his metal hand and gripped the handle of the door. Before he opened it, though, he turned around abruptly and fixed Elira with a pointed stare. Startled, Elira almost toppled from her stool.  
  
"Yes?" she asked tentatively.  
  
Vincent opened his mouth, but then faltered before he could say anything. Shaking his head, he turned back around and opened the door. The bell over it chimed softly. But he only took half a step before pivoting again. The door shut with another ring of the bell. "I would like to see the book," he said quickly, as if saying it faster would change its meaning.  
  
Elira blinked, confused. "B-book?"  
  
"The book you mentioned last night."  
  
Elira couldn't help the look of surprise that crossed her face. "You want to see the book?" Was it possible that she hadn't pushed him away? She stood from the stool. "Would you...would you mind coming up to my apartment? I mean, I don't want to move it too far. It's very old."  
  
Vincent gave a shrug. Elira nodded and tried to appear as nonchalant as he looked, though something inside her was bubbling up with excitement. Calmly, she stepped out from behind her desk and entered the forge, glancing over her shoulder to indicate that Vincent should follow. And follow he did.  
  
Elira opened the door at the back of the forge and, with the deft flick of a lightswitch, made her way up the staircase. At the top of the stairs was another door, which Elira unlocked quickly with a key and opened. Inside lay her cramped apartment in all of its unashamed glory. She entered and, after pulling off her sneakers, walked around the rooms, turning on a couple of lamps. She came back to the door and waited for Vincent to remove his boots before leading him into her crowded living room.  
  
It was not long after nine. Supper time. Elira let her mind wander over all of the groceries she'd bought on her lunch break, trying to decide what she felt like eating and what she could feed her guest. As Vincent wandered over to her bookshelf to inspect the titles there, Elira walked into the kitchen. While pulling some sandwich stuff out of the fridge, she called out, "The book's in the top cupboard of the wall unit."  
  
She heard the squeaky sound of the cupboard moments later. And then the soft protests of the old springs in her sofa. Her mother's sofa, actually. It was the only piece of furniture she'd brought with her from Kalm, the last remnant of her old life.  
  
The sound of the springs stirred a memory and she paused in laying out the bread. It was a memory of *him*. Shaking her head she tried to concentrate on making the sandwiches, but the thoughts would not be suppressed again. Steeling herself against the onslaught of grief, anger, and guilt that always oppressed her at any thought of him, she let herself remember, knowing it would be less painful if she just gave in.  
  
She had been sitting on his lap on the old sofa. He'd been nuzzling playfully at her neck with his lips and nose, sending thrills through her that only he had ever caused. Her father had been out for the evening with his current girlfriend.  
  
They'd made love on that couch. And then, he'd asked her to marry him.  
  
Two months after the marriage, he was gone. Some bystanders had said he'd done it on purpose, that he'd known the train was coming. He'd just let himself fall...  
  
...and the gunsmith had taken her in without any questions. When she'd cried herself to sleep every night, he hadn't said anything. When she'd neglected again and again to visit her hometown, he'd never asked any questions. Sometimes, she'd thought she'd seen something like a knowing pity in his gaze, as if he'd seen it all before. And when the time had been right, he'd known what to say, what to do. Barret, a friend of the gunsmith, had talked of Myrna, his wife who had died in a fire. And she had listened sullenly. Until she'd realized that she wasn't the only one who felt guilt for the death of a loved one. It had taken almost two and a half years, but she had finally opened back up to society. At least somewhat.  
  
She thought of Terry suddenly and chewed her lip. She wasn't ready for that. Not a relationship. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever be ready. Occasionally she was still haunted by those questions: Why had he done it? What had she done wrong? What had she done to cause his death?  
  
It was a few moments before Elira could compose herself and stop her hands from trembling. She finished making the sandwiches and, putting them on two plates, carried them into the livingroom. Vincent was on the sofa with the book in his lap, thoroughly engrossed. Elira set the plate on the end table beside him and, though he gave a nod, he didn't look up.  
  
She sat down beside him on the couch, curling her legs beneath her to keep her feet warm, and grabbed one half of her sandwich. Then, finally settled, she took a bite of her supper and watched as Vincent flipped slowly through the book.  
  
His expression was so serious she realized, as if for the first time. His mouth never formed more than a straight line and his eyebrows never twitched to show any emotion. In her own seclusion of two and a half years ago, she recalled, she had also kept a stone face in front of everyone. She'd learned that it kept people from getting too close.  
  
Vincent turned the page carefully, smoothing it down with the palm of his gloved hand. At the picture of a revolver that was more than forty years old, he let his fingertips linger as if he was familiar with it. Elira frowned a little then, wondering just how 'familiar' he was with guns. She wondered to herself how he knew Barret.  
  
She wondered if he had ever killed anyone.  
  
Where had that come from? She shook her head. There was nothing about him so far that suggested he was a murderer. Why would she even think that?  
  
So maybe he'd never killed anyone. But what if he had lost a loved one, too? And what if the memory of that death still haunted him?  
  
Elira halted in mid-chew. He could be more like her than she'd first thought. There was nothing saying they hadn't experienced her same circumstances. After all, Barret had. Something in her quivered suddenly with a strange sort of excitement. Maybe they were the same...  
  
Because she was still holding people at arm's length. Even Terry. Even Benita. Even Barret, if she thought about it. After *him*, there had been no one else. No one she could really connect with. No one who *really* understood. Not even Barret, not completely. Because Barret wasn't the type to get quiet and anti-social. He'd described himself in the years after Myrna's death as angry, unstable. He'd been sort of confused by Elira's withdrawal.  
  
But Vincent would've understood why, she thought. She understood why he was doing it. She had been there, too. A part of her was still there, she acknowledged. They could help each other...  
  
Elira didn't even realize what she was doing until her fingers had touched his pale cheek. Absorbed in the book, Vincent hadn't noticed her drawing closer until she'd touched him. And then he started, flinching away, his eyes full of surprise and...fear?  
  
Elira dimly realized that she had overstepped the boundary. It had gone beyond professional, over the invisible line he'd drawn to keep others out. She had touched him, driven on by something she didn't quite understand. She needed...she needed to know if he was like her. She needed to know if he could help her, and if she could help him.  
  
She moved to touch him again and he watched her with a confused, disapproving frown, shying from the contact. But not far enough. Her fingertips caressed his cheek, and she let them travel up to his temple. This time he hesitated. Encouraged, Elira drew her fingertips around his ear and then down his neck. He lolled his head back a little as she continued to touch him, his eyes fluttering shut. She wondered how long it had been since someone had shown him physical affection.  
  
"It's all right, Vincent." She traced the contours of his lips and he opened them, giving an unsteady breath. She cupped his cheek in her hand and he leaned into her touch. Moved by pity, Elira got to her knees and put an arm around his back, drawing him slowly to her until his head rested on her shoulder. She then put her other arm around him and rested her cheek on his hair. She could feel him shaking and she began to rub his back.  
  
"It's all right, Vincent. It's all right."  
  
She felt him move and, in a moment, his arms had encircled her waist. He held her tightly, as if afraid that she would vanish if he let go. His touch felt strange, especially with the metal hand pressed against her back, but good. She hadn't had a man touch her like this in a long time, and she wondered how long it had been since a woman had gotten this close to him. But she didn't feel ashamed or self-conscious. This felt right in a way that gave her the courage to keep going. He needed this; she needed this. She had made the correct first step in the dark maze that was Vincent and had gained a piece of his hesitant trust. Now, if only she knew what to do next...  
  
The shrill cry of the telephone made her jump. At the second ring, Vincent began to sit up, as if coming out of a dream. Elira tried not to notice how cold she felt without his arms around her. She backed away from him as the third ring echoed through the apartment and was disappointed to see that he wasn't willing to look at her. With a sigh, she stood from the couch and answered the phone on the fourth ring.  
  
"Hello?" she asked, and her voice was muted as if she'd been asleep.  
  
"Elira? Is that you?" came Terry's voice from the other end of the receiver. "You sound tired. Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine."  
  
"Good. I told you I'd call. Renard and Edwin are watching television and that gives me a little breather. Boy, those kids are like tumbleweeds. They don't sit still for long. I feel like a trampoline."  
  
"Uh-huh." Elira watched as Vincent closed the book on his lap and stood to put it away where he'd found it.  
  
"Elira?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"Elira? Are you still listening?"  
  
"Huh?" Without a glance in Elira's direction, Vincent closed the cupboard door in the wall unit and left the living room.  
  
"So, what's happening with you?"  
  
Elira picked up the base of the phone from the coffee table that sat a few steps from the couch and carried it with her until the cord was stretched to its limit. Peering around the wall that separated her living room from her kitchen, she could see the door of her apartment. Vincent stood next to it, stepping into his boots. And then he opened the door.  
  
"No, Vincent! Wait!" She put out a hand as if to stop him, dropping the base of the phone in the process. Vincent ignored her and left, shutting the door behind him.  
  
There was silence for a moment on the other end of the phone. "Elira?" Terry began falteringly. "What...what's going on? Is Vincent with you in your apartment?"  
  
Elira sank to her knees and then carefully righting the telephone base.  
  
"Elira! Answer me! Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes," she croaked. "I'm fine, Terry."  
  
"What's wrong? Why's Vincent in your apartment with you? It's after nine o'clock!"  
  
Elira scoffed, angry at Terry for calling, angry at him for asking so many questions. "What, is nine o'clock my curfew?"  
  
"Elira, no. That's not what I meant. I'm just curious, that's all. And I worry about you. None of us knows Vincent very well. Is it really a good idea for you to be alone in your apartment with him?"  
  
"Why?" Elira stood and stalked across the living room, dragging the base of the telephone along the floor behind her. "Has he said anything to make you distrust him? Does he make lewd comments about me behind my back?"  
  
"I just have a hard time trusting a guy who...well, you know, looks the way he does."  
  
That did it. Elira had always thought that Terry was above that kind of thing. He'd never said anything bad about Barret and the colour of his skin. Then again, Barret hadn't been alone with her in her apartment. Elira had seen jealousy rear its ugly head a few times when regular customers had made passes at her. She'd always brushed it off before; it was just Terry's way. But this was starting to get ridiculous. Terry didn't own her. She wasn't his to be jealous about. She had never been his the way he wanted her. And now, she doubted she ever would be.  
  
"And how does he look, Terry?"  
  
"Elira, you're making too much of this..."  
  
"You know, I thought you were different. I really did. Now I see I was just ignoring the obvious because you were my closest friend." She sat down on the sofa. The springs groaned under her.  
  
There was a small silence. "Elira. Don't get all defensive on me. You know I didn't mean it that way. I just...don't want anything to happen to you, all right? I care about you."  
  
"If you care about me, stop telling me what to do!"  
  
"I'm not telling you what to do! I'm..." There was a pause as Terry took an audible breath. "Look. You're obviously stressed right now. Why don't we talk about this when you've calmed down a little."  
  
Elira felt like giving him a swift, incensed retort, but instead gathered her wits about her and controlled her anger. "I'm not stressed. I'm fine, okay?"  
  
"All right, all right. So, you're fine. I only wanted to know what you're doing? Is that such a horrible question?"  
  
Elira felt like saying, 'I thought you wanted to know why Vincent was in my apartment!' but decided against it. "I invited Vincent up to see that book, and after work this evening he came up to see it. Then, he left when you called. There, that's what I've been doing. Do you want to know what I've eaten in the last twenty-four hours, too?"  
  
"Of course not. Well, I'm sorry I ruined you're evening by calling."  
  
Elira scoffed into the receiver. "Terry, you didn't..."  
  
"Well, that TV show is done. I'd better go and take care of the boys. Good-bye, Elira."  
  
"Terry, wait."  
  
Only the dial tone answered back.  
  
Elira got swiftly to her feet and, grabbing up the base of the phone, slammed the receiver down. She then banged the phone onto its spot on the coffee table and sank down onto the couch again. The spot where Vincent had been sitting only minutes before was still warm. Curling up in that corner of her sofa, she let it all out, crying until all of the pent of grief, guilt, and rage had faded, leaving only an empty, sick feeling, and finally sleep. 


	5. One Man's Sin

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Four: One Man's Sin  
  
by thelittletree  
  
It wouldn't have surprised Elira if Vincent had not come to work the next day. The surprise came when she found him in his usual spot by the door when she unlocked it for her employees at a quarter to nine. He nodded as he walked briskly past her into the forge as if he'd left the shop the night before as usual and was just seeing her again since then. Somehow, through her shock, she was able to nod politely in return before retreating behind her desk.  
  
Benita was the next to show, followed by the men. Terry arrived last of all, coming in at almost exactly nine. Elira gave him a warm smile as he entered, but he glanced away. He then entered the forge, his expression guarded. Elira tried to ignore the knot this encounter put in her stomach.  
  
There were no recent orders for guns to be approved; there was no paperwork to do; there were no deposits to take to the bank, and no customers to call. There wasn't even a wet boot mark on the floorboards to clean up. Elira sighed, trying desperately to think of something she could do that wouldn't require entering the forge. But there was nothing, and she couldn't just sit all day at her desk. Not when there were orders to be filled, as well as shotguns to be fashioned for the upcoming hunting season. Putting down the pen she had been twirling in her fingers, Elira stood, mustering her courage to enter the place that, once her refuge, now felt like an emotional battlefield. But everything that had happened last night hadn't all been her fault. It wasn't her fault if Terry was so obsessed with her that he flew into fits of jealousy about things that weren't his business. That was his fault, his own problem. And it wasn't her fault if she had made Vincent uncomfortable.  
  
Well, maybe that was her fault. But she really believed that she'd made some kind of breakthrough with him, as if she'd somehow gotten to the inside and made a connection. For a moment, she'd felt that he'd accepted her into his world, even if she'd trespassed to get there. It had made her feel special, unique, and that had taken away some of the loneliness that still haunted her life.  
  
She just hoped that Terry's untimely phone call hadn't altogether severed any hopes of furthering the connection.  
  
The forge was still fairly cool as the furnace warmed slowly, the red coals promising a familiar heat by the middle of the morning. Vincent was in his usual seat beside the furnace, already working on a small pistol. Elira wondered idly if he didn't get hot sitting so close to the coals in his heavy-looking black clothing, but her mind wandered as she noticed Terry staring at her. She looked his way but he met her eyes for no more than a second before lowering his gaze to the shotgun he was assembling. His movements were short and fast, like Vincent's, Elira noticed, but with a certain hastiness that could've almost been classed as carelessness. He assembled the gun the way he had been taught, but with no apparent knowledge of how it worked, as if it wasn't a weapon that could be used to kill someone. Elira found herself strangely disgusted by Terry's casual laxity.  
  
"Hey," she began quietly after a moment. "I'm sorry I got angry over the phone last night. I guess I've just been stressed out or something. I...I haven't really been myself lately. It's like...I'm finding things about myself that are nothing like what I thought I was."  
  
Terry gave a snort. "Yeah? Well, I hope these things you're finding out don't change you any more along the lines I've seen, or you'll wind up chasing everybody off." He looked up at her meaningfully as he said the last few words, his jaw set and eyes smoldering.  
  
.  
  
Elira knew Terry well enough to guess that he was only using irate words to hide his pain, but they made her angry nonetheless. Reining her temper as best she could, she raised her chin resolutely and said, "You know, I was trying to apologize. That was really rude."  
  
Terry raised his eyebrows and gave a laugh of feigned shock. "Oh yeah? Since when did being concerned for a friend constitute rude behaviour?" He looked around, directing his question at everyone in the forge. Benita and Vincent ignored him, but the other three nodded their heads and muttered their agreement.  
  
"Since you became my 'keeper' instead of my friend," Elira shot back, her anger rising to the surface.  
  
Benita gave some quiet, unintelligible encouragement from where she was sitting.  
  
"I'm not trying to be your 'keeper', or whatever. I just wanted to know what was going on because I was worried! Isn't that what friends do?"  
  
"Friends worry; they don't obsess about who's in your apartment doing what!"  
  
There was a sudden clattering of metal against wood. Elira glanced with the others to where Vincent sat, the pistol he had been working on lying awkwardly on the table. He didn't raise his head or pick the gun up from the table where he'd dropped it. He just stared at an undefined point in front of him, his hands resting protectively over the weapon as if he didn't trust his grip.  
  
"What's wrong with Vincent?" Terry asked spitefully. Elira didn't look at him, but she could feel his eyes boring into the side of her head. "Is he flustered? Is he uncomfortable with our topic?"  
  
Elira kept her eyes on Vincent's bowed head, her teeth clenched on all of the retorts that were more than eager to pop out of her mouth. But through her anger, she felt a sort of pity. She wondered if Vincent thought she had revealed their encounter to Terry. He'd never seemed to care before what anyone in the forge thought about him. But if someone were to find out that beyond his cold exterior was a feeling, hurting human being, as frail as anyone else, maybe it would embarrass him. She hoped she'd have the chance sometime soon to assure him that Terry didn't know. No one did, or ever would.  
  
Terry turned his attention from Elira to Vincent as he sat unmoving at the table. "What's bothering you, Vince? Huh, buddy? What were you and Elira doing in her apartment last night?"  
  
Elira felt her temper boil over. Vincent had nothing to do with this. It was between Terry and herself, and Terry should've known that. But, there he went again, hurling insults concealed as questions as if Vincent were a bullseye. "Leave Vincent out of this, Terry! He didn't do anything."  
  
"I'm not asking you, I'm asking Vince. Huh, Vince? What'd ya do up there? Sit around staring at each other?"  
  
Elira felt like screaming at Terry, but she realized this was childish and controlled the impulse. "He came up to see the book. That's all. I told you that over the phone. You're blowing it all out of proportion!"  
  
"Am I?" Terry banged the palms of his hands on the table as he leaned forward heavily. "I bet you two were up there doing more than just reading! I'll bet he was doing what any warm-blooded man in this sector would've done in that same situation!"  
  
"You mean what you would've done!" Elira shouted, not caring anymore about governing her temper. "And so what if we were doing something more than reading? What are you going to do about it? Call the police? I still think a girl has the right to have a man in her apartment in this sector!"  
  
Terry's eyes burned with a fury Elira had never before seen in him and for a moment she was afraid he was going to attack her physically. But instead, he slammed his fists down with such force that the table bounced off the floor before he stalked out of the forge. Elira heard the squealing of the bell above the door as he fled the shop. She looked at the floor, still angry but feeling ashamed of her words. She didn't want to hurt Terry. She just wanted him to back off.  
  
After a moment of silence had passed, Benita muttered, "Well, that was better than anythin' I ever seen in a soap op'ra."  
  
Normally, Benita's lighthearted phrases brought a smile to her lips, but not today. Elira looked at her for a moment, then slipped out of the forge. Sliding down onto the bottom step of the stairway between the shop and her apartment she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.  
  
***  
  
Terry didn't return for the rest of the day, and when Elira called his house there was no answer. After an hour of sitting at her desk toying viciously with a pen, waiting for him to come back, she re-entered the forge and lost herself in her work. The morning passed in a blur.  
  
As lunch time approached, Elira began to let her mind leave the realm of metallurgy; she wanted to talk to Vincent and tell him that Terry didn't know anything about last night. As she hammered on an old cylinder for a handgun, feeling better with every blow, she thought about how to best broach the subject. During the lunch hour was the prime time, she decided, when everyone else had left the shop. She just hoped Vincent would still let her talk to him after what had happened.  
  
But it wasn't to be. Not even ten minutes before twelve the bell over the door chimed. Taking off her plastic face shield, Elira entered the front room of her shop to discover one of her old customers, a man who had recently opened his own weapons store at the other end of the sector. A few years over thirty, and a family man, he enjoyed talking. A lot. Elira sat on her stool nodding and smiling for over an hour while he talked about his store and his kids and his wife and his health. And she could hear Vincent still working away in the forge. The customer finally departed when, at almost a quarter after one, Benita poked her head out of the forge and demanded Elira's presence loudly.  
  
At precisely nine that evening, once his day's work was packed up and put aside, Vincent left the shop, not even stopping to give Elira a parting nod.  
  
Elira closed the store more quickly than usual that night, almost shoving the last of her straggling employees out the door, before running down the sidewalk after Vincent. He already had a few blocks on her and was walking at a fairly quick pace, so it took her a few minutes to reach him.  
  
His head was bowed as he walked swiftly, his midnight hair billowing out behind him, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. It struck Elira suddenly that he was an imposing figure, tall as he was and all dressed in black; he looked like the kind of man a girl would run away from instead of toward. But Vincent, unlike any member of the criminal element, had no interest in murdering anyone. Actually, Elira realized, he really had no interest in anyone period. If she were to be hit by a truck and killed while running after him, he probably wouldn't even look back, uninterested in the tragedy except for the passing acknowledgment that he would be working under someone else from now on. Well, maybe not. Maybe he would feel some loss in that the person who'd reached out to him, made a small connection with him, was now dead. Maybe.  
  
Or maybe he'd be glad she was gone, since it would free him from her endeavor to get closer to him. Elira frowned, holding her coat closed against the wind as she jogged down the sidewalk; this train of thought was getting her nowhere. She didn't know enough about him to guess at what went on in his head. And, really, none of what she was thinking had relevance to anything she wanted to say to him. She cursed inwardly as she finally came up beside him, breathing heavily, with no idea of how to begin.  
  
Once she'd caught her breath she cleared her throat and looked up at him. He ignored her presence. She folded the two zippered edges of her coat over one another and then crossed her arms to keep them closed together, her mind racing as she tried to think of some way to break the ice. But everything was ice: Vincent's expression, the atmosphere surrounding them, even the words that came to her lips only to be swallowed back down seemed frozen.  
  
Finally she gave a small, nervous chuckle. "You know," she began, her voice sounding squeaky in her own ears, "you ought to show me how to use a gun, O experienced one. That way, I'll be able to follow you after work without the fear of being jumped." She chuckled again but the sound dwindled into a cough when Vincent didn't give any acknowledgment to her statement. After another moment of silence, she re-cleared her throat and decided to try the head-on approach.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry about what Terry said to you earlier. It was uncalled for. He's just a...a bully. A really...obsessive bully. He was just angry at me and had to strike out at someone. And you happened to be in the way. I'm really sorry. And I wanted to tell you that he doesn't know anything about last night. I didn't tell him a thing."  
  
Vincent didn't say anything. In fact, he didn't say a word all the rest of the way to the train station. It was only when he was stepping onto the platform, with Elira watching from behind and resolved to not getting a response, that he said, "You shouldn't apologize for another's mistakes. Every man's sin is his own." And then he disappeared into the train.  
  
Elira stood looking after him until the train's rumbling on the track was no more than an echo. Another cryptic response. Every man's sin is his own. Was he referring to, more than Terry, to himself? She shook her bowed head in confusion.  
  
And then she lifted her face, realizing that he'd taken all blame of the situation away from her. He didn't believe it was her fault. Maybe their 'encounter', as she'd started referring to it, last night hadn't been as repugnant to him as she'd thought.  
  
With a smile on her face, she left the platform and started home. And, as if her contentment had lifted her out of the sector to where she was walking on air, invisible to all on the streets below, not one suspicious-looking character even attempted to grab her. As if they were afraid they would burn their miserable hands on her happiness.  
  
***  
  
Terry came to work the next day, his expression sullen and hard as stone. Elira wanted to greet him but the words died in her mouth as he passed her desk. And, during the next few days as he continued to work for her, almost as silent as Vincent, she began to see what people meant when they said that there was a thin line between love and hate.  
  
Over the next couple of weeks, whenever Elira entered the forge she refrained from looking at Terry; it pained her heart to see him, once a close friend, now an enemy. She filled the orders, made hunting weapons, and tried to ignore him when he passed Vincent and shoved him, or pushed him into the table. The first time it happened, Vincent turned to her and shook his head ever so slightly. It wasn't her fault, and he wasn't going to make a big deal of it. She faked ignorance for the sake of the connection she saw in his eyes that day.  
  
Benita, however, was not as forgiving, and was too straightforward to pretend not to see. Often, she sprang up to Vincent's defense amidst the chuckles of the other men, yelling, "Terry, yer a sad sight!" or "Leave'im alone, ya bully!" But Terry paid no attention to Benita; she bore no part of his wrath.  
  
Coming to work was like pulling teeth for Elira. It bothered her to the point where it made her sick to her stomach with dread and drove her to insomnia by the dreams it induced. Because, no matter how many times Vincent could shake his head, she still felt that it was her fault. She didn't love Terry the way he wanted. And Vincent was paying the price without saying a thing in his own defense, as if it wasn't unfair. As if he deserved everything he got.  
  
Sometimes, Elira thought she hated Terry.  
  
And sometimes, Elira thought she was growing increasingly fond of Vincent. She found herself respecting him for literally 'sticking to his guns' when Terry bothered him, ignoring the taunts when most other men would've gathered up every last scrap of their immaturity and fought. And she began to like the quiet, thoughtful, mysterious manner that had once annoyed her.  
  
Perhaps Benita was right; maybe there was something attractive about a mysterious man. Though, she told herself again and again, she wasn't attracted to him *that way*. The fact that she found herself thinking about him an awful lot, found her eyes straying to him while she worked in the forge, just proved that she liked him, admired him.  
  
Nothing more.  
  
Even when her fingertips tingled sometimes when she remembered how his skin had felt to her touch. Even when her breathing became shallow and her heart rate quickened every time she thought about his arms around her waist.  
  
These things didn't mean what they meant for other people. She and Vincent were different. His touch had just been a surprise because he was so aloof. And it had made her feel the way it had only because she hadn't been in anyone's intimate embrace for so long. That was all.  
  
She just ignored it when she began to want to touch him again. Because that was hard to explain away. Other than that, she had no problem believing the things she told herself.  
  
Until the day he smiled at her.  
  
It wasn't a big smile, just a twitching at the corners of his mouth after her greeting and his courteous nod. Elira wondered dreamily for the rest of the day how such a small gesture could affect her mood so drastically. It didn't make any sense; it didn't fit with her reasoning. She even found herself smiling for the first time in weeks, humming a tune she'd heard on the radio that morning. Benita had commented on the change of her disposition for the better but instead of explaining, Elira had only smiled wider and continued working on the recent order forms.  
  
Terry appeared to notice it, too. After a couple of days he seemed to realize that he was no longer making her miserable and he stopped bothering Vincent. He would just sit sullenly at his table. Elira tried every once in a while to talk to him, just light conversation like they used to, but he ignored her. And Elira would again feel miserable. Until Vincent left that night, giving her *that* smile before stepping out the door.  
  
And she would get home, feeling as if someone had been playing at tug-o-war with her emotions. She wished that things would just settle down so she could be absolutely happy or absolutely miserable; this jumping between them was so very tiring. And while she was wishing, she wished that she didn't live in sector four so that, on the evenings when she felt she couldn't stand it one more minute, she could go on a safe, evening walk to clear her mind.  
  
But she did live in Virna, sector four.  
  
She needed to get some fresh air before she'd had enough. She needed an escape, if only for an hour. One hour to clear her mind. That's all she was asking for she told herself, drifting off to sleep one night after a particularly hectic day. Surely someone, fate or God, would see fit to grant her this. Just one hour... 


	6. Need

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Five: Need  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Vincent closed his apartment door slowly behind him, not leaning wearily against it until he heard the soft click that had become so familiar. 'What am I doing?' He sighed through his teeth, a frustrated sound, and walked silently to the bathroom. As he undressed, he berated himself further. 'What do I think I'm doing? Smiling at her like some kind of fool.' He frowned slightly as he unwound the red bandana from his forehead. It would have to stop.  
  
She was strong, stronger than he'd thought, to hold up under the abuse of her friend. She was so young, but something told him she'd been hurt by someone before. Deeply hurt. The haunted look he occasionally saw in her eyes as she stared at Terry gave her away. And he couldn't help but feel as if he shared some horrible secret with her, something that only the two of them knew.  
  
She had touched him. Her fingers hadn't been trembling or cold. They had been warm, and strangely soft for someone who made guns for a living. Looking into her face, feeling his skin prickle pleasantly under her fingertips, his walls had come crashing down leaving him vulnerable. When had been the last time he'd been touched like that...affectionately, without fear? Had *she* been the last one? That had been so long ago...  
  
He dropped the bandana into the sink and moved to the bathtub where he drew the shower curtain across and turned on the water. He knew she'd blamed herself for Terry's violence. Though it wasn't her fault. Vincent had been the jealous on-looker once, and he'd never blamed Lu...*her*. Besides, he really wasn't worth worrying about. Terry hadn't hurt him. Nothing that hadn't healed up within hours. He hadn't wanted her to go to any trouble for him. If he'd wanted to, he could have done something to stop Terry.  
  
Seeing her sitting there at her desk every morning, hunched over as if she was being physically weighed down, had made him want to do something. Not to Terry. It was not his fight. Some small gesture to let her know that he was all right, that she didn't have to worry.  
  
A smile.  
  
But it would have to stop. The smiles she returned to him every morning and evening made him feel good. They made him remember her fingertips and the heavenly comfort of her embrace.  
  
But he had to stay apart from her, to keep her from his curse. No matter what he thought he wanted, he couldn't risk her life. Everyone who'd ever tried to get close to him had gotten hurt, or worse. And she didn't deserve that.  
  
Though it would have been nice, after all this time...  
  
He doused that thought in hot water as he stepped into the shower. It was better not to think of it. It was better not to tempt himself into believing that fate might have changed its mind after all of this time. That maybe it was allowing a light in to banish that dark curse. That maybe it had moved on to torment someone else.  
  
But what except fate could have found another one to bring into his life, another young, beautiful one who wasn't afraid? One who had the ability to move beyond his barriers, seemingly without even trying?  
  
Maybe this was his second chance. 'Does fate allow a second chance?' he wondered as he leaned his head back into the spray from the shower nozzle. Not bloody likely. He would stop all of this foolishness. He knew better.  
  
She wasn't his responsibility. No matter how much she needed someone.  
  
Or how she made him need.  
  
***  
  
Vincent pushed the door to the shop open as Elira unlocked it, stepping onto the floorboards of the shop without a sound. She smiled at him, a warm smile.  
  
"Good morning, Vincent."  
  
He nodded at her, but forced his lips to stay in a firm straight line. He disliked the way her expression fell when she realized he wasn't going to return her smile. Quickly, he brushed passed her and entered the forge.  
  
***  
  
Later that day, Elira found herself wondering, even as she held back the stinging tears, if Terry had had a bad night.  
  
He'd been the last one in, and Elira hadn't made mention of his tardiness. In fact, she hardly talked to him at all anymore. His hurt, angry expression made him a stranger. Elira wanted to say she was sorry, to tell him that she would love him the way he wanted. But she knew it wasn't right. In her heart, it wasn't right. And Terry would just have to realize that she wasn't in love with him.  
  
She just hoped it wouldn't take too much longer.  
  
Vincent hadn't smiled this morning.  
  
And then Terry had finally spoken. But his words had been barbs aimed straight at her heart. And this time he hadn't thrown them first through Vincent.  
  
"Elira, you're really selfish, you know that? A selfish, heartless bitch!" Then he'd left the shop and hadn't come back. His words continued to hurt as if he were still spitting them at her.  
  
Benita had tried to console her, but the soothing words, interrupted every once in a while by an insult to Terry or men in general, had passed over her like so much air. At lunch, she wandered up to her apartment to be alone.  
  
In her kitchen, leaning against the counter and stirring her tea, Elira took a breath to settle herself. She was a selfish, heartless bitch, was she? Why? Because she didn't love him? Wasn't he being selfish, trying to force her? She'd thought he was her friend, her closest friend. She'd thought he would understand. But no one understood. Except maybe...  
  
There was a knock at her door. She looked up, startled, and it was a moment before she put her tea down. It wouldn't be Terry, would it? No, Benita wouldn't have let him past the front room. But hadn't she gone for lunch? Elira struggled to remember if Terry still had the key to the shop she'd given him for days she was sick.  
  
At the door, with her hand on the knob, she thought she'd better find out who it was. She didn't want to see Terry right now. She didn't know what she would do if she saw him now. Or what he would do.  
  
"Who is it?" Her voice was quiet. She hoped the person on the other side of the door had been able to hear her.  
  
There was a moment of silence. And then a subdued response. "Vincent."  
  
Vincent? She blinked in surprise. What did he want? He hadn't smiled at her today so she doubted this was a personal call. She opened the door and the emotionless expression on his face gave her heart a pinch. After the last few weeks, he almost looked like a stranger.  
  
"Yes?" she asked him.  
  
"I once loved a woman who didn't love me back. But, I never talked to her the way Terry was talking to you."  
  
Elira stared at him. "What?"  
  
"I said..."  
  
"No, I...I heard you." He hadn't smiled today. Then, out of the blue, he came to her door to tell her...this. An objection to Terry's treatment of her, to let her know that he believed Terry was in the wrong. And, for some reason, it made Elira feel better; she'd been unable to take in Benita's words, but his words went straight to her heart.  
  
Because he'd said it to her. He'd trusted her enough to say it to her. And she could imagine the difficulty he'd overcome in arriving at her door to say it.  
  
Vincent turned away abruptly and started back down the stairs. Caught off guard by his sudden departure, Elira wasn't able to find her voice until he was half-way down.  
  
"Vincent, wait. Come inside."  
  
He stopped, his feet on different steps. And then, after a moment where Elira was almost sure he was going to continue, he turned and walked slowly back up toward her. She smiled and moved out of the doorway to let him enter.  
  
He stood inside the door like a lost coat rack for a second as she stepped back into the kitchen to retrieve her tea. As she walked past him, headed for the livingroom, she noticed his hesitation.  
  
"C'mon Vincent. It's the lunch break. The shop'll be able to survive without you for a few minutes. Take your boots off and stay awhile."  
  
Vincent stood unmoving another moment before he removed his boots and followed her into the living room. She could understand his hesitation, considering what had happened the last time they'd been alone in her apartment.  
  
It was the middle of the day. The curtains of her balcony window were wide open, letting the sun into her small apartment. It glinted off the glass covers on her pictures and created colorful prisms on her wall from a gaudy window ornament Benita had given her one year for her birthday. Elira sat on the couch, curling her legs up under her as she sipped at her tea. Vincent stood by the arm of the couch, looking around the room as if thoroughly fascinated.  
  
"You can sit down, Vincent," she told him, adding a belated, "if you want," when he glanced at her. An uncomfortable pause ensued until Vincent stepped around the arm and sat down. At the other end of the sofa. Elira pretended not to notice and raisied the mug to her lips again.  
  
"Thank you for saying what you did. What Terry said hurt me a lot."  
  
Vincent just looked at her.  
  
Elira cleared her throat, feeling a little self-conscious. "Terry doesn't understand how it is with me. He never really understood, I guess. He's never been very much of a listener." She chuckled. "But maybe I kind of like it that way. That way I don't feel so bad about keeping secrets from him." She glanced at Vincent and cleared her throat again. "He's been asking me out for a long time, ever since I met him, but I always turn him down. I've never told him why, but it has to do with...with my marriage." She gave a quick smile. "I'm not married now, of course. About five years ago, when I was eighteen, I met my...my husband. Eagan." Her throat tightened suddenly. She coughed and reached for her tea. "He was twenty then, with a lot of plans for his life. His father owned the auto-body shop in Kalm where I worked, and he wanted Eagan to take over the shop when he retired. But Eagan was a free-spirit. He had his own goals. He wanted to become one of the representatives for Neo-Midgar. Once we were married, we moved from Kalm to Penora, sector eight. He was so certain he would get the job, and then we'd have our future made. But, there were some older men who didn't like Eagan's new 'youthful, idealist fantasies', and they had enough sway to change the vote. He didn't make it onto the board."  
  
She dared a glance in Vincent's direction. He hadn't moved an inch, and though his eyes were still focused on her she couldn't guess what he was feeling. He was listening, though. He was listening to her with more attention than she'd ever been listened to with before. She took another sip of her tea.  
  
"I told Eagan that it didn't matter. I loved him and he loved me. We could make it together. We could take over his father's auto-body shop to make a living until the elections came around again. But he wasn't satisfied with that. We got into a big fight about it one night. And then, the next day his..." She stopped talking to compose herself, closing her eyes on the tears that were threatening. "...his body was found mangled beneath a train. Someone said he'd thrown himself onto the track. The only way..." She choked suddenly on her words and put her tea down before she sloshed it all over herself. "The only way I could recognize the body was the ring on his finger, an exact replica of mine." She rubbed her finger absently where she'd worn the ring for two and a half years after he had gone.  
  
"You feel responsible for his death."  
  
It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Elira looked up from her hands to find herself staring into his intense red eyes, his expression as still as if he hadn't spoken.  
  
She lowered her gaze. "Yes, of course I do. If I hadn't fought with him, if I had just tried to understand..." She trailed off and wiped at her eyes.  
  
When Elira returned her gaze to Vincent, she found him leaning against the back of the couch, his eyes looking distantly across the room. His metal prosthetic was stretched out toward her on the cushions. She fought the urge to put out her hands and touch it.  
  
"I was twenty-five when I fell in love," he told her quietly.  
  
Elira chuckled a little. "You know, no offense intended, but it's hard to picture you being in love."  
  
Vincent glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, I suppose it might be." He took a breath, his chest visibly rising and falling slowly beneath his coat. "She didn't love me, though. Not the way I wanted her to. She was in love with another man who abused her. I tried to convince her a number of times to leave him and come with me, but she refused."  
  
"Yeah, that happens sometimes."  
  
"I stopped asking her eventually. And, one day, he killed her."  
  
Elira choked suddenly. "He...he killed her?" she asked in a strangled voice.  
  
Vincent nodded and looked toward her. "He was not a good man. I had tried to tell her, but she didn't want to hear it. She loved him. She said she would be all right. And I suppose I wanted to believe her. I didn't want to hurt her or try to force her to leave. But perhaps I should have." This last statement was so quiet Elira almost didn't hear it.  
  
She felt in that moment as if she was staring into a mirror. They were the same. The same grief, the same guilt. She and this man, this beautiful soul seated across from her, with his deep red eyes and his long black hair. She realized as if for the first time how good-looking he was. Maybe not exactly society's definition of handsome, but possessing a kind of startling attractiveness. The urge to touch him flared up suddenly and her fingertips nearly tingled with the desire to caress his face, his ears, his neck, his hair. And his lips.  
  
But Vincent stood suddenly as if he'd been partial to her thoughts. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "I should get back to the forge," and gave her a nod before walking around the couch and out of sight. A few moments later, Elira heard the door to her apartment open and close.  
  
She drank the rest of her tea slowly. And then, when she was finished, she wandered into the kitchen to put the mug in the sink for washing. She smiled as she stepped back into her living room. When she came to her sofa, she turned her back to it and spread her arms. And then she toppled backward, falling onto the cushions. The springs squealed under her. She laughed as her red curls bounced gaily around her face.  
  
Everything was going to be all right.  
  
***  
  
Elira looked up from some government paperwork as Benita stepped out of the forge for the evening. The other three employees had already left, so she, Benita, and Vincent were the only one's left in the shop. Elira smiled.  
  
Benita gave a grin and pulled Elira into a hug. "There's nothin' to worry about, honey," she whispered. "Everythin'll turn out."  
  
Elira nodded. Benita gave her one more squeeze before releasing her. She then gave a wink and walked out of the door. Elira chuckled slightly and shook her head. There hadn't been a day gone by that she'd not been grateful for hiring Benita instead of another man.  
  
Elira was just putting the papers away in a drawer of her desk when Vincent stepped out of the forge. But instead of nodding, perhaps with a smile, and heading quickly for the door, he stood beside her desk where Benita had been only moments before. Elira glanced up at him.  
  
"Yes, Vincent?"  
  
He stood looking at her for a few seconds in silence. "Would you like me to teach you how to use a gun?"  
  
Elira shut the drawer and stood. "To use a gun? Why?"  
  
Vincent gave a small shrug. "A few weeks ago you said I should teach you to use one so that you would feel safer walking alone at night."  
  
Elira raised an eyebrow and laughed, remembering. "I did say that, didn't I?" She'd forgotten about it completely, meaning it only as a joke. From the expression on Vincent's face, though, it looked as if he'd taken it seriously enough. This time, she was the one to shrug. "Sure. It'll give me a new perspective on guns, even if I never shoot anyone. We'll just have to schedule some time."  
  
Vincent stared at her a moment longer. "Do you have previous engagements tonight?"  
  
It was Elira's turn to stare. Was he asking her out? "No, actually. Well, just my laundry, but that can be done anytime." She felt her heartbeat become stronger, louder. Breathing was suddenly a little difficult.  
  
"There is a small unused park in MiraCletus that I often practice in. If you want, I can take you with me and teach you."  
  
He *was* asking her out! His distance from that morning was gone without a trace. "Yes! I mean, that would be great. I...I'd really like to learn if you don't mind taking the time to teach me."  
  
Vincent nodded and then waited while Elira slipped into her coat, and then again while she locked the door before they left. Stuffing the keys into a pocket, she walked with him up to the train station. As they went along, Elira saw some unwholesome-looking people glance her way, but less than a glimpse of Vincent detered them from trying anything. Vincent didn't seem to notice them, facing straight ahead as he was. Smiling, Elira walked closer to him.  
  
The train was almost empty. Two men, one near the rear of the car and one at the front, were the only other ones occupying this section. As they passed the one at the back, a scruffy, unshaven man who smelled as if he didn't do enough bathing, but too much drinking, a calloused hand reached out and pinched Elira's bottom. She gasped and turned, smacking his hand angrily.  
  
His eyes were glazed over, his mouth open in a sly, drunken grin. "Sorry there, miss. Just testin' the fruit."  
  
Elira wanted to yell at him, to drag him out by going over everything Benita had ever said to her about the baseness of men, but Vincent took her arm and led her past him, giving the man a piercing stare. The man's grin faded and he sat up in his seat, swallowing nervously, not meeting Vincent's eyes. "Didn't mean nothin' by it," he mumbled as if to himself.  
  
Vincent ushered her forward until she slid into a seat beside a window, allowing Vincent the seat beside her. As he lowered himself down, he murmured, "I am sorry, Elira."  
  
Elira felt her lips twitch as he said her name for the first time. And then she gave a chuckle. "You shouldn't apologize for another's mistakes, Vincent. Every man's sin is his own, after all."  
  
Vincent turned to look at her for a moment. And then the corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he shook his head in...amusement? Elira couldn't be sure; she'd never seen him amused before. She hoped she'd get another chance; every little thing he did seemed to reveal something new.  
  
His apartment was dark, but he didn't bother turning on a light as he strode out of sight only to return with a small handgun and a clip. Putting them both into a pocket, he led her out of the building.  
  
The night was cool, though not uncomfortable. Elira nestled her chin into her collar and pushed her hands further into her pockets, letting her eyes roam the deserted streets of MiraCletus. It was so quiet here. The only thing she could hear were their footsteps; even the almost unnoticable clop of Vincent's boots was audible in the silence. Eventually as they walked, a cluster of barren trees, prickled here and there with small green buds, came into view. Between two of the trees stood a very old and rusty looking gate left partly opened, its bottom rungs draped in ivy and weeds. The park, Elira presumed.  
  
Inside, it was filled with the twisted, reaching shadows of the trees in the moonlight, its grassy floor littered with cigarrette butts and abandoned beer bottles. Elira felt a little uneasy as she glanced around at all of the places a mugger or a rapist could be hiding, but Vincent didn't seem uncomfortable in these surroundings. In fact, he seemed to walk a little more leisurely now as if the company of shadows relaxed him.  
  
There was a rotting stump in the middle of the small grove, roughened by the passing of the years, but still level on top. Vincent walked up to it and set a beer bottle he had plucked from the grass upon it. He then walked back to Elira, pulling the gun out of his pocket and inserting the clip.  
  
"Firing a gun takes almost no skill whatsoever," he began, stretching out his arm and looking at the bottle down the nose of the handgun. "It's the aiming and the timing that take so much practice." Elira jumped as the sound of the shot rang through the emptiness of the park, followed closely by the dischord of shattering glass. She looked to the stump. The bottle was gone, its only remains a few lone shards. She raised her eyebrows, duly impressed.  
  
Vincent lowered the gun and surveyed his handiwork for a moment before heading out to set up another bottle. Upon returning to Elira's side, he held out the gun for her to take. She looked at it blankly for a moment before picking it up in her hands.  
  
The weight was so familiar. She'd forged many of these guns before. Glancing at it quickly as she turned it over in her hands, she could see that it was old and unadorned by designs, as if they had been worn off by use. The surface was cool and smooth. She slipped her fingers into the positions she'd seen Vincent's occupy. It felt good in her hand. And then she raised her arm, imitating what she had seen Vincent do. And she began to tighten her finger.  
  
"Wait!" she heard Vincent say urgently from beside her, but it was too late. His voice startled her and her finger clenched spasmodically. The sound of the shot was deafening, but she had little to no time to reflect on that as she was unexpectedly thrown backward. Without time for a gasp, she found herself falling.  
  
Only to land on something warm that grunted underneath her. She opened her eyes and sat up, glancing down at Vincent whose abdomen had broken her fall. With a cry, she swiveled off of him and helped him to sit up.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"  
  
He nodded, his expression a little smug as if he was laughing at some inside joke. "I'm sorry. I forgot to warn you about the kick."  
  
Elira frowned as she got to her feet. "The...kick?"  
  
"Yes," Vincent answered as he stood, brushing himself off. "The tendency for the gun to throw a person backward as the bullet leaves the barrel. You have to shift your stance to allow for it. Like this." He moved his feet until one was slightly ahead of him and the other placed behind him, ready to catch his weight when the 'kick' occured. Elira copied his pose. She then raised the gun up again to the bottle she'd missed last time and let her finger tighten on the trigger. The shot was very loud in her ears and she started, feeling the jolt backward. This time she kept her feet, but there was no shattering glass. This would take some getting used to.  
  
Vincent looked at her a moment before holding out his right hand. Elira placed the gun in his palm. Turning to the bottle, he affected his stance until he was satisfied with it, and then glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You have to be able to keep your hand and arm steady as you shoot so that the bullet goes where you want it to go. Don't expect too much tonight, though. This is, after all, only your first attempt."  
  
Elira nodded, watching Vincent train his eye on the bottle over the barrel of the gun. She wondered how willing he would be to talk right now, now that he seemed in a comfortable state of mind. "Where did you learn to use guns like this, Vincent? From Barret?"  
  
Vincent continued to peer down the barrel for a moment before lowering his arm. "No." He didn't look at her, staring at the bottle as if expecting it to come to life.  
  
Elira waited a few moments longer than necessary for the rest of his answer. And then she sighed. "Well, where did you learn then?"  
  
Vincent stood perfectly still for almost a full ten seconds before heaving a silent sigh. And then he turned his head, meeting her questioning eyes with his red, unresponsive ones. "It's a long and complicated story."  
  
Elira raised her eyebrows before giving a shrug. "So? What, do you have some 'previous engagements' I don't know about?"  
  
Vincent looked away, glancing down at the ground in front of him. And then he looked back to the bottle, almost forgotton on the stump, shaking his head slowly. "I don't want to talk about it right now." His voice was strained, as if he was inexplicably tired.  
  
Elira pursed her lips. "All right. I'm sorry if I'm prying. I feel like I know so little of you." That was an understatement. But there had to be something he was willing to talk about. As he raised his arm, aiming again at the bottle, she asked him, "Who was the woman you loved and lost?"  
  
Vincent didn't answer. He pulled the trigger quickly, without warning, making Elira jump at the sound. The bottle didn't break.  
  
"Damn."  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
He lowered his arm and looked over at her, his eyes filled with a strange weariness she had never before seen in him. With a helpless gesture that might've been a shrug, he shook his head, saying, "I'm sorry, Elira. My past is...something I haven't thought about in a long time." He turned his eyes away quickly, as if this admission had already given away too much.  
  
Elira nodded, wanting to apologize again. She, of all people, should have realized that he might be reluctant to talk, no matter what he'd said that afternoon. After all, she'd had a hard time telling Barret about her past, and it hadn't all come in a rush. It had been revealed in spurts, like the hiccuping of a volcano. She would have to be patient and leave him to his own pace. She didn't want him to withdraw again.  
  
Elira held out her hand and Vincent passed her the gun. She idly looked it over again, her mind turning even as she turned the weapon around in her grip. "I used to be like you, Vincent, holed up inside myself. I'm still pretty unwilling to talk about my past. I already judge myself; I would hate for other people to judge me." She gave a sad little smirk and raised the gun up the way Vincent had, aiming for the bottle once more. "It's a lonely way to live. You probably already know that. But if you ever want to talk..." She gave a shrug and then pulled the trigger. The jolt of the shot ran angrily through her body. No breaking glass. Just silence. She swore, feeling inexplicably frustrated.  
  
As she stared moodily at the ground, Elira didn't notice that Vincent had moved until long, black-clad arms reached hesitantly around her shoulders. She gave a start, but then stood, fidgeting, as he took her right wrist in his hand and lifted her arm up until the gun was level again with the bottle. He then curled his right fingers around her hand on the gun and clutched the other side of the butt with his prosthetic. Stooping a little, he put his mouth next to her ear and cleared his throat quietly.  
  
"Don't become agitated," he told her softly. "I told you not to expect anything tonight."  
  
Elira nodded distractedly and sniffed, her nose running a little in the chill of the air. And she noticed his scent, mixed with that of the forge. It was kind of musky, almost like the smell on the pages of an old book, or of the dying leaves that fall from the trees before the first snowfall. It was an intoxicating smell and Elira noticed how it made her breathing quicken and her heart pound. She wondered if he could hear it.  
  
She swallowed and frowned; she didn't want to be attracted to him. It made things complicated. After all, she wasn't ready for anything beyond friendship. His fingers twitched as they touched hers, thin and strong beneath his glove. She wasn't ready, was she? She took a breath to calm herself, but it was unsteady and she cursed inwardly. She was beginning to wonder what she was ready for.  
  
However, he had invited her out as a friend. She very much doubted that he was looking for anything beyond friendship. So she would just have to put these thoughts out of her head. 'For now,' her mind added involuntarily and she clenched her teeth; she and Vincent were different, she told herself. Different from other people. So things would obviously be different between them. She nodded once to herself before raising her chin, waiting for instruction.  
  
"Can you see the bottle at the end of the barrel?" Vincent asked her. Elira could feel his breath on her cheek and it made her shiver. Blinking, she focused her eyes on the bottle before shifting her aim until she could see the brown neck just above the end of the gun. "Yes," she murmured. Vincent gave a small nod and cleared his throat again.  
  
"I'll hold your hands steady as you shoot to keep your aim from wavering. Fire when you feel you're ready."  
  
'When I'm ready...' Taking a breath as silently as she could, she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. The kick thrust her back into Vincent and she jerked automatically at the retort from the gun. The sound of shattering glass was omnipresent.  
  
Elira opened her eyes and lowered the gun in time to see the last few spinning shards of the bottle fall to the ground. She gasped, grinning with pleasure. She'd done it. The bullet she'd fired had broken the bottle. With a whoop, she turned around and embraced Vincent fiercely, barely conscious of anything save the sudden rush of victory.  
  
"I did it! I broke the bottle!" She withdrew and smiled broadly at her instructor of about fifteen minutes. But he wasn't smiling. His mouth was open, his face frozen in overwhelmed shock. Elira's expression fell as she realized that she had trespassed again with her sudden burst of physical affection. And she wasn't sure if it was going to be okay this time. She could feel him trembling in her arms, his eyes darting around her face as if he expected her to attack.  
  
She lowered her eyes and took a shallow breath; maybe there was still time. Maybe an apology would still have some effect. "I-I'm sorry, Vincent." She cautiously slid her hands out from around his waist and looked up at him for his reaction to her attempt at reparation.  
  
He said nothing. He just lowered his face and let his lips brush hers. Elira inhaled, surprised, as a jolt like a stroke of lightning charged through her body. The bigger surprise came, though, when she was unable to keep herself from returning the kiss with more passion than she'd thought possible after all of this time. She dropped the gun. It thumped dully to the ground.  
  
Vincent drew breath sharply through his nose as his body stiffened, his muscles tightening as she embraced him again. Then, in one swift motion, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly against him.  
  
He was thin, thinner than he looked. Elira slipped her hands inside his coat and caressed him, feeling his ribs under her fingers, feeling muscles constrict in his chest. Slowly, he pulled his mouth from hers, lifting his chin and gasping as if breaking the surface of a pool. Elira began to trace a line of kisses down his neck, feeling his pulse jump beneath her lips. 'This is the wrong thing to be doing...this is the wrong thing to be doing...' her mind repeated a continuous warning, but she ignored it, wholly caught up in the feel of him, the scent of him.  
  
"No, please," Vincent whispered hoarsely, releasing his hold on her. "Please, Elira. Stop."  
  
It was the hardest thing she'd ever done to let go of him, but she had promised to be patient, to go slowly. Her breathing and heart rate still faster than usual, she dropped her arms to her sides and backed away from him. Her body tingled in the chill of the air.  
  
"I'm sorry," Vincent started, his breathing also somewhat staggered. "I'm very sorry. I thought I might've been able to stay apart...but I couldn't...and it's dangerous, Elira, you don't know how..."  
  
Her heart swelled with pity. His fears were the same as hers. The danger. The danger of falling in love. It could kill her. It could kill him. The curse was unmerciful. She raised a hand and placed two fingers on his lips. He stopped talking.  
  
"I'm willing to take the risk if you are."  
  
Vincent seemed to take a moment digesting her words. And then, suddenly, he took her in his arms and held her to him in a powerful embrace. Elira slipped her hands around his waist again, holding onto him with all of the strength she had. All of the strength they would need. After a moment, she raised her head from his shoulder and his lips found hers, his kiss filled with a starving intensity she had never known. And then the intensity became her own, muffling her senses, muffling all but him.  
  
Somehow, they made it back to his apartment, running through the deserted streets as if being pursued by death. The rooms were dark, but Vincent led her to the bedroom without a hitch. The sheets of his bed were cold against her nakedness, but Vincent was warm. And soon, she was burning like a coal in the forge's furnace. Burning and burning...  
  
Until all of the fear was reduced to ashes, and all of the cares of the world melted into nothing. Until fate and curses became nothing but a weary lover's dream, and anxiety gave way to peace...  
  
And peace gave way to sleep. 


	7. The Morning After

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Six: The Morning After  
  
by thelittletree  
  
The morning was drab through a curtainless window.  
  
Elira blinked as she came awake. She wasn't wearing anything, she realized soon after; only a sheet covered her up to her collarbones. Her back was pressed solidly against something warm and her ear lay on something firm. An arm lay stretched out before her.  
  
A golden arm.  
  
Elira blinked again as the memory of the previous night rushed back to her in a flurry of emotion. Excitement, lust, passion. She lay next to Vincent, his shoulder supporting her head. His prosthetic arm lay motionless in front of her, the metallic fingers relaxed and curled up slightly. She moved forward slowly until her ear rested further down his arm, on the muscle.  
  
The prosthetic began at the joint of his elbow. Elira was surprised to see how cleanly the metal had been grafted against the skin. She ran a finger along the inside of his elbow: seamless.  
  
The muscle under her ear stiffened gently and the digits of the hand before her twitched. Elira turned her head, shifting a little under the sheet, to look at Vincent.  
  
Vincent looked back at her, his head propped up on a pillow. It was almost a shock to see him shirtless and without his bandana; his wealth of black hair hung close around his face, some trailing down his chest to mix with the smattering of dark hair there. He smiled as she noticed him. Her smile.  
  
"Sorry," he said quietly. "That itches."  
  
Elira ran a thumb along the inside of his elbow to remove the itch and turned back to him. "Good morning, Vincent."  
  
He nodded once in greeting.  
  
Elira turned her attention again to his prosthetic arm, running a hand down the length of it. She entwined her fingers with the metal digits. The digits closed gently around her hand.  
  
"You know, the first time I saw you I wanted to take this thing apart and see how it worked," she told him softly. "Where did you get it?" She thought of Barret's new prosthetic limb.  
  
Vincent didn't answer right away. "It was made for me."  
  
Elira moved until her ear lay against the metal casing. As she took her hand back, the digits moved; Elira could hear the quiet buzzing of electronic parts inside the arm. "Did you have an injury?"  
  
This time, Vincent's silence lasted a bit longer. "Something like that."  
  
Elira drew back to the warmth of his side, sliding one arm around his waist and resting her head on his chest. "Do you always have to give cryptic responses?" she asked him, smiling.  
  
Vincent shrugged. "It depends on the question."  
  
Elira pursed her lips. "All right. What happened to your arm?"  
  
"I had an injury," he told her with the utmost sincerity.  
  
Elira couldn't help her laugh. Irritated, she pinched his side firmly with two fingers. He gave a grunt and cast her a disapproving glance. She laughed again. "Okay, no more questions." She sighed. "I wonder what time it is?"  
  
Vincent pulled his right arm up and looked at the watch fastened there. "Twenty to seven."  
  
Elira hummed an acknowledgment. More than two hours before she had to open the shop. She let her arm creep over to his right wrist, drawing it toward her to inspect his watch. It was small and sweephand, the thin black leather straps affixed together with a silver clasp. "You sleep with your watch on?" she murmured, idly interested.  
  
"Not usually. My mind was elsewhere last night and I forgot to remove it."  
  
Elira grinned suddenly and moved to look him in the face. "That was funny, Vincent. I guess you do have a sense of humour somewhere in there."  
  
He gave a little smile, though it seemed a trifle wan. "Perhaps. I imagine it's somewhat out of practice."  
  
Elira turned her attention to the watch as she strove to undo the clasp. "Well, then you should practice. I'd laugh." She slipped the watch from his wrist and held it up in front of her face.  
  
Vincent took his watch from Elira and set it on the floor beside the bed. "I don't know what to say to that."  
  
Elira shrugged. "Don't say anything." And she kissed him. She thought she'd never get tired of kissing him. It felt so good to be in bed with another warm body.  
  
After a moment, Vincent stirred and pulled his mouth from hers. "We should probably start to get ready," he said. He wasn't looking at her.  
  
Elira felt the change in him immediately as if he'd told her he was uncomfortable. She moved off of him. "All right."  
  
The mattress sank as Vincent sat up and swung his legs over the side. Before standing, he glanced over his shoulder. "Did you want to shower?"  
  
Elira shrugged. "You go first. I'll just put on something of yours if you don't mind and make some breakfast while I wait."  
  
Vincent nodded and stood. Elira was surprised to find herself looking resolutely at the pillow; they had been intimate, his naked body wasn't anything new. But they'd made love in the dark. She tried to convince herself that she was being ridiculous, but was unable to make herself glance up until he'd left the room. When she heard the bathroom door close, she got up from the bed and carefully opened his closet. After a few moments, she came up with a long black dress shirt that came down to her mid-thigh. She slipped into it and took the time to do up the buttons. As an afterthought, she put her panties on.  
  
She found his kitchen somewhat understocked. After looking over what he had, she finally decided on scrambled eggs. Grabbing a pan she found in a cupboard beneath the sink, she turned on one of the stove burners and put a dollup of butter into the pan.  
  
It wasn't long before she was drifting into her thoughts. Vincent was having doubts about this. It wasn't surprising. They still didn't know each other well. She cracked a few eggs on the counter and emptied them into the pan. What should she do? Should she let him back off? Memories of last night flashed through her mind. It hadn't been premeditated sex, just a sudden heavy impulse. A mistake? She reached into the fridge and pulled out the milk.  
  
He wasn't ready for this. Neither was she, if she thought about it. Right now, in the fog of a satiated body, it felt right. But, if she was honest with herself, she knew she would get scared again. She didn't know him enough yet to be sure that he wouldn't leave, as Eagan had left. They would both get scared. They needed to learn to trust each other. As much as she wanted to deny it, they needed more time.  
  
  
  
From the kitchen, Elira heard the bathroom door open and then the bedroom door close. A little scrounging brought her two plates. She divided up the eggs and went out to the kitchen table.  
  
Or at least to where most people kept their kitchen table.  
  
Seeing his apartment for the first time in the light was like a revelation. Elira wandered out of the kitchen and into the living room. No couch, no coffeetable, no hutch; just bookshelves. And many, many books. Elira returned to the kitchen and set the plates down on the counter. They would have to eat here. She looked at the countertop and ran an experimental hand over it. It was clean and dry. Turning around, she hoisted herself up to sit on the cool linoleum and started eating her breakfast.  
  
It wasn't long before Vincent wandered into the kitchen dressed in his usual black. His hair was still wet as it hung down from his bandana. Elira smiled at him from atop the counter. He stopped walking to stare at her.  
  
Elira looked down at herself and grinned apologetically. "Sorry. Were you going to wear this one today?"  
  
Vincent stared at her for a few seconds longer before shaking his head. "No, it's fine."  
  
Elira nodded and shifted her legs, sensing his discomfort. Had she offended him by sitting on his counter? With slow movements, she slipped to the floor. And then she gestured to his plate.  
  
"You'd better eat it before it gets cold. Cold eggs are absolutely disgusting."  
  
Vincent didn't smile at her words. In fact, he didn't even look at her as he grabbed up his plate and wandered a few steps away to eat. Elira tried not to feel upset by his behaviour and finished her eggs.  
  
When she'd deposited her plate in the sink, she walked toward him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she moved, but then looked away, putting another forkful of breakfast into his mouth. His manner proved him to be less than interested in a conversation. Elira was tempted for a moment to leave him and head for the bathroom, but she stuck to her course and eventually ended up next to him.  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
He swallowed his mouthful after a moment of chewing. "Yes?"  
  
Elira did her best not to fidget. "Tell me the truth. Do you regret what we did last night?"  
  
He didn't reply for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Why? Do you?"  
  
"No, I don't. That is, unless you do." She chewed on her lip. "Look, I didn't go with you last night with the intention of sleeping with you. I just wanted to get to know you. You're the first person I've met who has really listened to me, and understood everything, since...Eagan's death. This isn't to say last night wasn't nice. It *was* nice. It was great, in fact. It's just that..." She fumbled to a halt and knew her cheeks were hot with a blush. When she looked at him again his red eyes were attentive. "Are either of us ready for this?" she asked quietly.  
  
The edges of Vincent's mouth quirked downward almost imperceptibly and he looked away. After a few moments of silence, when Elira was beginning to doubt she would get an answer, he replied, "I don't know."  
  
Elira bowed her head. Neither did she. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to slip her arms around him and have him hold her back. But considering what had just been said, she knew it was the wrong thing to do. "Maybe," she began, her voice even softer now, "we should back off a little, just go back to being friends until we're ready." She almost added "and forget that last night ever happened" but caught herself at the last moment. She would never be able to forget.  
  
Vincent turned to look at her and she raised her head. And then he nodded. Elira felt both rejected and relieved in the same instant. Her throat tight with some unnamed emotion, she returned his nod and retreated to the bathroom.  
  
***  
  
Once the sound of the bathroom door closing reached his ears, Vincent made himself move from where he was rooted to the floor to deposit his plate in the sink. He ran his hand through his wet hair as it lay over his bandana and gave a sigh, closing his eyes. Oh, how she'd looked in his shirt with those long legs stretching out beneath the hem! He shut his eyes tighter as the image threatened to undo his composure. He would never be able to look at that shirt in the same way again...  
  
He'd thought himself long devoid of these kinds of things. After all, Avalanche had not been strictly men; there had been Aeris and Tifa. And, of course, Yuffie, though she had been little more than a child. But, although each of them had been attractive and, at points, dressed in less than Elira had been wearing moments ago, he had not felt this way about them.  
  
None of them had broken through his defenses. None of them had even tried.  
  
He hadn't meant to sleep with her either. It had all happened in a blur when she'd touched him through his walls again in a way no one had been able to for years. She wasn't afraid of him. She saw him beneath it all. He'd been so alone for so long, he hadn't been able to resist.  
  
But neither of them had been ready. They would both back off.  
  
But would that be enough? He sighed again. He didn't know. She shook the very core of his self-control. He wanted her. Kind and perceptive; paradoxically strong and fragile, like a thorned rose shivering in the wind. And beautiful. She was like a beacon of light. He wanted to keep her near; he wanted her to belong to him without question. The same longing he'd had for Lucrecia. It was happening again.  
  
He would have to back off, but further than Elira supposed. They would have to sever altogether. He did not want to fall in love again. Not when his loved killed. He shouldn't have gone up to her apartment the second time. Her pain was not his problem. He shouldn't have invited her out last night. His loneliness was his punishment; he would do well to remember that. It was not a good idea to tempt fate.  
  
  
  
The bathroom door opened and the bedroom door closed. After a few minutes, a washed and dressed Elira emerged, gently smiling. Vincent did not smile back.  
  
It would start now.  
  
He stepped into his boots and, without waiting for Elira, headed out the door. 


	8. Benita Gets Involved

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Seven: Benita Gets Involved  
  
by thelittletree  
  
It was only a quarter to eight when Elira and Vincent arrived at the weapons shop. Elira had had to run to catch up with him at the train station, her coat flung over her shoulders haphazardly. He'd left without her. He'd tried to leave her behind.  
  
The ride from MiraCletus had been an uncomfortable one; Vincent hadn't said a word to her, hadn't even spared her a glance. She'd tried to start a conversation once or twice, but he had ignored her steadfastly, looking out the window as if the decor of Neo-Midgar fascinated him. Eventually, she had given up, a troubled look on her face. If he didn't want to talk right now, that was all right, she told herself. It would just take some time.  
  
She sank wearily onto her sofa in her apartment and let her eyes roam distractedly over her living room. There was still an hour or so before her shop opened for business, but Vincent had gone straight to work, heating up the furnace and starting on the moldings for an ordered weapon. He hadn't looked at her. And, she admitted to herself, his behaviour confused and hurt her. More than anything now, Elira felt in need of someone to talk to, someone to thrash this out with.  
  
Benita arrived about five minutes before the shop opened. Elira took her up to her apartment without an explanation and, although Benita squawked at first, she followed. Vincent didn't glance up as they passed through the forge and Elira tried not to look at him. She wondered idly if Terry would show up today; all the more reason to be in her apartment.  
  
"All right, what's this all about?" Benita demanded, though her tone was tinged with worry.  
  
Elira didn't bother to remove her shoes as she walked into her kitchen and leaned her hip against the sink. With a sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest. Benita took a couple of steps onto the linoleum and frowned a little. "What is it, Lir?"  
  
Elira looked to the floor. "Beni, I...I really need someone to talk to."  
  
  
  
"Someone to talk to. Right. Gotcha. Well, I seem ta be 'vailable."  
  
Elira couldn't help her smile. "Well, I'm not sure how to start. It's kind of...I don't know. Personal."  
  
It didn't take Benita more than a second to cross the linoleum and take Elira into her short arms, holding her around the waist since Elira was almost a full head taller than her. "You can tell me anything, honey. I'm here fer ya, anytime ya need me." She withdrew a little and winked.  
  
Elira tried to smile again but it came out a little strained. "Thanks, Beni."  
  
Benita leaned her elbow on the countertop. "Now, what's the matter, Lir? Men problems again?"  
  
Elira might've laughed had Benita's guess not hit the mark. "Well, yes. I guess you could call it that. It's kind of hard to say. I'm not really sure you could really say 'problems' because it wasn't his fault. It was just a mistake, I guess. We were both at fault...or neither of us was." She shook her head in confusion.  
  
Benita was nodding, a lopsided frown on her face that was neither reproving nor judgmental. "You slept with the new guy, didn't ya." Benita wasn't asking, she was stating.  
  
Elira nodded, surprised. "Yeah, that's it. How'd you know?"  
  
Benita shrugged. "When ya've seen it once, ya've seen it a hundred times. Post-intercourse syndrome I call it. Happens to a lot a people. Besides, I saw the way you two avoided lookin' at each other when we went through the forge."  
  
Elira raised an eyebrow. "Oh." She sighed and looked at the floor. "I don't think we were ready for it. I told him I thought we should, you know, go back to being friends. But he..." She gestured at the door leading downstairs. "Now he's not talking to me, so I have no idea if he's mad or just...I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't know why he's backed off like this. I just...want to shake him!" She chewed her lip. "I hope he doesn't think I'm trying to push him away for good."  
  
"Ya sure he's not the one doin' the pushing? I mean..." Benita picked at a chip on the counter. "Maybe he jus' wanted a one-night stand. Did'ya think a that?"  
  
Elira shook her head. "He's not that type of person," she asserted. "He...he kind of acts like he doesn't want anyone around him, but then he goes and does something... Like last night, he invited me to his sector and I know it wasn't so he could sleep with me. He's just lonely. And we have an understanding. I think a part of him wants to hide away and another part wants to get rid of the loneliness. He's...he's complicated."  
  
"Sounds like," Benita muttered. "But if he keeps 'doing something' like you say, maybe you should jus' give 'im some time. He mighta just got scared."  
  
Elira nodded. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking earlier." She smiled suddenly. "Thanks for listening, Beni. I think I just needed someone to agree with me."  
  
Benita chuckled. "Well, we women have gotta stick together. Ya want me to talk to 'im or anything?"  
  
"No, that's okay. I'll just give him some time. And if there's talking to be done, I'll do it."  
  
***  
  
Terry didn't show up for work that day, or the next day, or the next. Elira felt his absence like a pinch to the heart. He had been her best friend, and now no one bought her coffee on the lunch hour or stayed late to help her set up displays. Lonely and miserable again, she nearly called him a few times, but always stopped herself. He wanted something she couldn't give him. And so, whether it felt that way right now or not, she knew it was better in the long run to wait for him.  
  
Vincent showed up every day, but he didn't speak or look at her. Elira could almost see the wall close down over his features whenever she approached. And she knew it was only a wall. She knew because of an incident that happened one afternoon.  
  
She had been walking over to the furnace to see how her molds were doing, trying her best to keep her eyes from Vincent. In her attempts to do that, however, she neglected to watch her footing and tripped headlong over a hitch in the floor she'd always stepped over before. Just as images of broken bones and a bloody nose had hurtled at her, someone had caught her. Someone with a golden arm. The expression on his face had not been masked for that moment, and had revealed his sudden panic and then relief as he'd set her on her feet. And then he'd turned away to sit back down to what he had been doing, not sparing her another glance.  
  
For all of not wanting to become closer to her, he did not want to see her hurt. And so, Elira continued to wait.  
  
And Benita was never more than a phone call away when the loneliness became too much to handle. Though the older woman didn't know much about Eagan's death or the fear it had spawned in Elira, she did her best to listen when Elira worried about Terry, or about how long she would have to wait on Vincent.  
  
Vincent withdrew more and more as time went by. He began to leave during the lunch hour and never arrived before or stayed after work longer than necessary. Elira had to fight the fear that he was never coming back, and every day the battle became harder. He didn't want her closer to him. He didn't want to need her. He seemed to prefer the hell of loneliness to her company.  
  
And Elira began to wonder if maybe the remembered pain of his old relationship wasn't the only thing holding him back.  
  
The news that he was looking for another job brought her to her knees, groping around for the pieces of her heart, her eyes blinded by burning tears. He was leaving...like Eagan...  
  
She curled up in her bed at night with an empty soul and a mind filled with questions. At work, she began to avoid the forge, and at home she refused to answer the phone, not even for Benita. Any close relationship would end this way; she believed it. There was something wrong with her that made people want to leave.  
  
Without even consciously realizing it, she began to slip back into the isolation, into the dark place she'd lived for two and a half years after Eagan's death. Where it was safe.  
  
Benita became worried and called Barret, but Elira wouldn't talk to him. She couldn't trust him; she couldn't trust anyone.  
  
Vincent pretended not to see what he recognized all too well.  
  
And Benita became angry.  
  
***  
  
"Out!"  
  
The three workers glanced at each other as if to confirm what they'd thought they'd heard. "What?" one of them asked finally.  
  
"You heard me! Out! Go for a fifteen minute break, er some'n. Just get out of here!"  
  
One of the men frowned. "But, Elira..."  
  
"Is in her apartment right now, so officially I'm the boss. And I'm tellin' ya to go fer a break. Now, go on!" Benita put her hands on her hips and glowered, letting the boys know she meant business. After a moment of confusion, the men hesitantly left what they had been doing and walked out of the forge. As Vincent stood from his work and started for the door, Benita grabbed his arm. He looked first at the offending hand, and then at her, glaring with brilliant red eyes that clearly expressed his distaste for the personal intrusion. But Benita was not to be deterred.  
  
"Not you, Vince. You sit back down."  
  
Vincent made no move. Benita sighed, unimpressed with his hostile look. She'd been raised from her adolescence by bikers, so she wasn't going to be intimidated. She glared back. "Now, buddy, before I clock ya!"  
  
Vincent didn't react to her words for an inordinately long few seconds as the two of them stared at each other, two wills clashing together. But then, as if finally seeing the 'I'm gonna make you sit, or die in the effort!' in her expression, Vincent went back to his stool and sat. He picked up one of the metal moldings for a shot gun and began to polish it, not looking at Benita as she pulled a stool up and sat across from him.  
  
"What do you think yer doin', Vince? An' don't play dumb. Elira told me everything, an' I know you see what's goin' on."  
  
Vincent said nothing for a moment, running the cloth over the smooth metal with measured strokes, undisturbed by how much Benita knew. "You wouldn't understand." His voice was tinged with a finality that said the conversation was over.  
  
But Benita wasn't going to let him get away without at least *trying* to knock some sense into him. And maybe she would have to knock hard to get through the stubborn shell he'd put up. "What's not to understand?" she began, letting her tone become mockingly easy-going. "You got yer wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, an' now it's over."  
  
Vincent stood so quickly that the stool clattered to the cement floor behind him. Benita started, surprised by his reaction. Perhaps she'd knocked a little too hard.  
  
Vincent towered over Benita from the opposite side of the table, his eyes bright. "I'm not like that."  
  
Benita hardened her expression, unwilling to let him see how he'd startled her. "Then what is it?" she asked, softening her voice. "Surely ya don't think Elira did some'n wrong?"  
  
Vincent turned and righted his stool before sitting down again. He didn't answer right away, picking up the discarded cloth and metal piece to continue polishing. "It's not her. It's me."  
  
Benita frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"  
  
Vincent didn't look up. "You wouldn't understand."  
  
Benita sighed. They were going in circles. "Look, what I understand issat 'Lira is really hurting right now. I don't claim to understand her, either, but I care 'bout her. Now, maybe yer relationship was goin' a little fast, but that doesn't mean she wants it ta be over. She really likes ya. Why don'tcha try and be friends wit' her again. That's all she really wants."  
  
Vincent stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes. Benita watched him for a moment in silent confusion. Then he spoke. "It isn't that simple."  
  
"What's the problem?"  
  
"You wouldn't..."  
  
"...understand," Benita finished with him. "Yeah, I know. Well, ya gotta do some'n. Explain it to her. God, you ain't been around women very often, have ya? You gotta talk to her. Even Barret couldn't get her to open her door. Yer the on'y one who can fix this."  
  
But he was shaking his head. Benita sighed in irritation. "You could at least smile at her, or some'n. She thinks you hate her!"  
  
That didn't get as big of a response as Benita had been hoping for. Vincent merely continued with his polishing as if what Elira thought didn't matter to him. Frustrated, Benita slammed her fist down on his workstation. He didn't even flinch. "God, how can ya be like this? I know you see the way she walks around here like a flippin' ghost! I don't even think she's eating! I jus' hope that, in a moment a despair, she doesn't grab a knife and slit her wrists or some'n!"  
  
Vincent stopped polishing again. Benita looked at his hands and found, to her amazement, that his fingers were trembling. He didn't look up. Benita shifted her position on the stool, realizing that she had hit a nerve.  
  
"She's that depressed, Vince. Or she will be if ya don't say somethin'. So, you see? Ya gotta explain things to her."  
  
Vincent put the cloth and piece down slowly onto the tabletop, keeping his hands on them. He still refused to look up.  
  
"And as soon as yer gone to this other job, what d'ya think that'll do to her?" Benita went on mercilessly.  
  
Vincent looked up at this and met Benita's eyes. Benita smiled.  
  
"Did you think that was yer little secret? One a the boys saw ya slip into a weapons shop across the sector. He thought that was kinda odd, so when you were gone he went in to ask what you'd wanted. The owner told him you were askin' about workin' there." Benita winked. "A mystery solved. Yer losin' yer touch, Vince."  
  
Vincent gave no reply save to bow his head again.  
  
"You've gotta talk to her, Vincent, before she does somethin' stupid. I don't have to tell ya how unfair it is to keep her guessin' this way. She's gotta know why yer avoidin' her so she can stop blamin' it all on herself. It's draggin' her through hell."  
  
Benita was pleased to see Vincent raise his head and nod a little. She smiled encouragingly at him. Not all men were heartless, lustful beasts, she found herself thinking, much to her surprise. If only she was twenty years younger...  
  
"You might wanna go to her now, Vince. She's been moping long enough."  
  
Vincent gave another slight nod and stood. Benita watched him walk over to the staircase at the end of the forge, his coat flapping around his calves as he ascended the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, she exhaled noisily and went to get the employees back.  
  
***  
  
Vincent took each step silently, keeping his eyes on the door that was fast approaching. How had he let himself be talked into this? He couldn't talk to her. It would be much easier if he just got himself another job and left as silently as he had arrived. He'd always prided himself on quiet entrances and exits as a Turk, and although the thought of the Turks was very often far from his mind now, the training and instincts stayed with him as ingrained habits. In Avalanche, they'd served him well, saving his life or the life of a comrade more than once. But they wouldn't save him this time. No matter how stealthily he left, he would still be hurting her. Even if it was to protect her from the death his curse could bring her.  
  
And yet, Benita had introduced to him the possibility that Elira could kill herself. No matter which path he took, her death seemed inevitable. He wondered wearily if he had sealed her fate with that kiss in the park.  
  
The door stood in front of him like a presence in the darkness of the hallway, barring his way. He knocked on it softly.  
  
There was no answer. He was undecided whether or not to knock again. If he decided not to, he could turn around, leave the store, go back to his apartment and hope that the other store hired him. And never look back, never knowing how Elira had taken his disappearance. Or he could stay and tell her that it wasn't her fault. Let her know that he had no choice in this and that he was sorry he had involved her. She needed to know.  
  
He knocked again, louder this time.  
  
After a few moments of silence, Vincent was able to discern muffled footsteps. They stopped on the other side of the door. He wondered belatedly if she had been crying. *Her* tears had always cut him to the core.  
  
"Who is it?" The voice was soft but steely, as if masking pain beneath a layer of iron will.  
  
Vincent closed his eyes, and replied, "Vincent," knowing that he had now committed himself permanently.  
  
There was a long pause. "What do you want?"  
  
"I want to talk to you."  
  
Another pause. "About what?"  
  
This time, Vincent was the one to hesitate. "Elira, I didn't mean to hurt you. If I'd have been able to see this from the beginning, I wouldn't have allowed myself to get so close to you. I have withdrawn to protect you."  
  
"Protect me?" The tone of the voice had become sharper. "From what?"  
  
"I tried to tell you once how dangerous it is for someone to grow close to me."  
  
There was a bitter laugh. "And I told you that I was willing to take the risk."  
  
Vincent winced inwardly as the memories of that night, memories he'd been trying to repress for weeks, came suddenly to mind. "Elira, this isn't a risk I'm willing to let you make. I don't want to see you hurt. We must both withdraw."  
  
"And both go back to being alone?"  
  
Vincent sighed. "That is preferable to the danger you'd be facing by becoming closer to me."  
  
"I don't care. I'm willing to take the risk. I don't want to be alone anymore."  
  
He pursed his lips in irritation. She wasn't trying to understand his point of view, she was just arguing against it. "Elira, this is not open for debate. I must withdraw. My choice, however, was none of your doing. If I could, I would change the way things are. But, this is how it must be. Do you understand?"  
  
There was no response. Vincent was prepared to descend the stairs, having said what he'd planned to say, but the sound of Elira's voice, so quiet he almost had to strain to hear her, stopped him. "Why are you so dangerous, Vincent?"  
  
The question gave him pause. He would never be able to tell her. The rejection he'd receive from her if that time ever came would be so fast and furious it would leave him crippled. "There are things about me you'd never understand, Elira. You'll just have to trust me."  
  
He knew he'd said the wrong thing as soon as he heard her angry scoff. "Trust you? You want me to trust you? Vincent, I trusted you once because I thought you wouldn't hurt me like...like Eagan did, but I was wrong. And now you want me to trust you again?"  
  
"Elira..."  
  
"Go away, Vincent! Leave me alone!" Her voice was shrill, foretelling the tears to come. "We'll do it your way! We'll just never speak to each other again if that's what you want! Now, leave!"  
  
He could hear her angry footsteps receding. That had not gone as well as he had hoped. With a sigh, he turned in the stairwell and descended to the forge.  
  
And Elira cried.  
  
***  
  
Elira woke the next morning feeling groggy. Her mouth was thick and her stomach felt as if it had been boiled. Slowly, she dressed and wandered into the bathroom. And started at her reflection. Her hair was a tangled mess, the area around her eyes was red and puffy, and she looked pale. After a moment of staring in horror, however, she raised her chin defiantly and brushed her hair, applied a little cover-up, and then some blush. And then she went out to eat some breakfast.  
  
Her stomach was still uncomfortable, but she made herself eat anyway. She was fine and so was everything about her life. And so she would go about her normal routine. She would show what's-his-name who worked for her that she didn't need him. She didn't need anything. She was fine. Everything was fine.  
  
At a quarter to nine, she did not descend to open the door to her shop. Vincent could wait. Five minutes before opening, she unlocked the door.  
  
But Vincent was nowhere in sight. And then Elira remembered that he had started coming later since... 'Ah, whatever,' she thought, interrupting herself. It didn't matter. She would sit at her desk and wait. She wouldn't look up as he passed.  
  
The employees arrived as the minutes passed, and Benita was the last one through the door. But Vincent didn't come. Elira told herself that she didn't care if he was going to be rude and show up late.  
  
At ten after nine, she began to get a little angry.  
  
At nine-thirty she was banging her sneakers against the metal legs of the stool, twirling her pen furiously as she read and re-read the first sentence of a government form.  
  
And at ten, she was becoming a little worried. Where was he? He'd never been late before.  
  
During the lunch hour as she sat in her apartment, she began to wonder if yelling at him the night before had made him quit. That's not what she'd intended. She'd just been so angry and hurt...she'd wanted to hurt him, too, to get him to change his mind. To get him to come back...  
  
...Eagan had seemed so far away...she'd yelled and yelled, trying to make him understand...to make him change his mind...and then...  
  
...under a train...  
  
An icy hand of fear gripped her heart. Was it possible? Would Vincent have...?  
  
No. That was stupid. Vincent wouldn't have. There was no such thing as fate, right? He had quit, or maybe he was just sick. After all, she hadn't been feeling so hot this morning. Maybe her words had made him ill, too. So very ill...that the pain had been unbearable...and he'd decided that death was preferable...  
  
No, no, no! How could she think this? She had no proof. It was ridiculous! It was childish to believe in fate...  
  
And yet, Elira found herself grabbing her coat from her closet at the end of the lunch hour. She ran down the cement stairs into the forge until she stood beside Benita, who was just sitting down to work after her break. Struggling to shove one arm through a persistently misplaced armhole, she said, "Benita, I need you to watch things for me."  
  
Benita, who had looked up at Elira's unexpected and blustery appearance, nodded right away. Elira smiled, suddenly aware of how much she loved the older woman. In a rush, her coat still hanging awkwardly from one arm, Elira threw her arms around Benita and squeezed. "Thanks, Benita. I'll be back as soon as I can."  
  
Benita squeezed her back. "Take as long as ya need, Lir. I promise the shop'll still be here when you return."  
  
Elira nodded distractedly as she straightened and hurried out of her store, shoving her arm into her coat and pulling at the zipper to block out the nippy air of the day. Her breaths puffed out in small wisps of steam as she jogged to the train station.  
  
'...Wait, Vincent...please wait...I'm coming...' 


	9. Fear

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Eight: Fear  
  
by thelittletree  
  
The first sign of trouble was that Vincent's door was ajar, though it didn't necessarily point to the kind of trouble Elira was hoping not to find. She pushed on the door gently and it swung open without a sound. The apartment was silent.  
  
"Vincent?" Elira cleared her throat, realizing how soft and dry her voice was. "Vincent? Are you in here?"  
  
There was no answer. Elira stepped through the door and stood motionless in the hallway. Maybe he wasn't here. Maybe he'd gone out to the other weapons shop to inquire about his prospective job. But then, why would his door be open? Had he been in such a rush that he'd neglected to close it behind him? That seemed a little unlikely. Maybe he was sick in bed. In that case, she should leave and not disturb him. But...  
  
...maybe he was dead...  
  
Elira shook her head fiercely. No, that wasn't it. It was impossible to think that was the reason. Vincent was fine. She was just overreacting. There was no reason to be worried.  
  
'There's no reason to be afraid.' Her heart beat was thundering as she chanted these words to herself under her breath, moving slowly along the hallway. 'There's no reason to be afraid...no reason...no reason...no reason...'  
  
Death often came without a reason.  
  
But he wasn't dead. She knew it. And he would be upset if he saw her here.  
  
Still, she kept moving.  
  
Until she was shocked into numbness by the condition of his living room.  
  
Gray sunlight meandered through the patio window, bathing the ashen carpet in a dull, cheerless glow. Books lay strewn everywhere, some torn apart and bleeding pages. One of the bookcases lay face down on the floor where it had been tipped from the wall, a few covers visibly peeking out around the edges of the wooden frame as if the books had been trying to escape the disaster. The other two bookcases were nearly empty, the shelves scratched and broken, looking for all the world as if someone had gone to them with a board full of nails.  
  
It was a few moments before Elira could stir herself enough to close her mouth. What had happened? Had someone broken in during the night? Well, then, where was...  
  
"Vincent? Vincent! Where are you?" Elira ran into the kitchen and found it in similar disarray, plates smashed on the floor, pots and pans littering the area like casualties. But no Vincent. The bathroom, too, was empty. She ducked out of it quickly, but not before she saw the shredded shower curtain.  
  
The bedroom. Elira entered cautiously, not wanting to disturb anything, least of all the memories of that night that were possibly still lurking in corners. She stopped walking as her eyes fell on the bed.  
  
The covers had been ripped from the bed and thrown up against the closet doors. The mattress had been cut up mercilessly, springs and bits of fluff poking up through the wounds.  
  
And then Elira saw them. Two very familiar boots sticking out from the around the foot of the bed. For a full ten seconds, she was unable to do anything but stand and stare, her breathing irregular, her heart drumming deafeningly, her eyes filling with tears of disbelief, agony, terror. And then, as if the strings holding her back had been cut, she stumbled forward.  
  
He lay on his back, his face turned to one side, his hair a tumultuous mess. There was no blood. His clothing was not torn. Elira was puzzled until she saw the small pill bottle clutched in his right hand. A few of the white pills had spilled out onto the floor like a trail of luminescent tears.  
  
Elira knelt down slowly beside him. This couldn't be real...this couldn't be real... She stretched out trembling fingers. It took a little effort to pry the bottle out of his grip. She recognized the name of the medication. A potent sleeping drug; she'd used to take it when her grief hadn't even allowed her the solace of sleep. But her psychiatrist had warned her against taking more than one at a time. And it looked as if Vincent had swallowed half the bottle.  
  
Elira's hand began to shake so badly that the pills rattled nervously against their plastic prison. She put the bottle down to stop the noise; it scared her in this silence. He had killed himself. Her face contorting, Elira bowed forward and buried her face in the black clothing, clutching at it spasmodically as she wept. He was dead. She'd killed another one.  
  
Elira cried for what seemed like hours. And then, finally spent, she curled up beside his still warm body like she had the morning after, her head resting on his chest. A soft sob escaped her lips occasionally, but then she became quiet, as if she had died beside him.  
  
But in the silence, there was a noise. A regular 'thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump' as if someone were walking heavily with a limp somewhere nearby in the building. A death march. She thought she was imagining it, except that she felt it, too, through his body. It took her confused, grief-stricken mind a few minutes to recognize the sound of a heartbeat.  
  
Elira sat up suddenly, staring at his body, his face. She put one hand to his stomach and thought she felt the routine rise and fall as he breathed. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she moved forward on her knees and put two fingers to his neck.  
  
A pulse: slow, rhythmic.  
  
She put her hand underneath his nose. Warm air brushed her fingers.  
  
He was still alive. Elira started laughing breathlessly in relief, but then stopped. Perhaps he had taken the pills very recently and they just hadn't killed him yet. This thought disturbed her quite a bit. She didn't know how she could make him vomit up the pills besides sticking something down his throat, and for all she knew that could do more harm than good. Maybe she should call the hospital. But Vincent didn't have a phone. Surely someone on this floor would let her call out from their apartment if she said it was an emergency.  
  
Elira rose quickly and ran out of Vincent's flat, stopping in front of the door opposite his to knock. The knock ended up being louder than she'd intended, but she couldn't worry about that now. And maybe the louder the knock, the more quickly the person living here would answer their door, Elira rationalized. After all, a loud knock sounded urgent.  
  
Elira fidgeted as she waited, feeling every second go by, feeling every second wasted. And then, finally, the doorknob turned and the door opened. Inside the apartment stood a short, overweight man dressed only in boxers and an unraveling t-shirt. His face was broad and flat, reminding Elira of a bulldog, and he didn't look like the kind of person who thought much of charity.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Um, hi." Elira faltered as she took a moment to gather her scattered bearings. "I...I was wondering if I could use your phone, please. It's an emergency."  
  
The man continued to stare at her with dull, uninterested eyes for a few seconds as if he hadn't understood what she'd said.  
  
And then he slammed the door in her face.  
  
It was like that for the next few doors she tried. And the ones after that. Elira would've kept on going, but the lack of compassion in the people of Neo-Midgar was making her sick with disgust. And she felt, too, that she had been away from Vincent for too long. This little endeavor had taken her almost fifteen minutes, and for all she knew they could've been the most critical fifteen minutes. She sprinted back to his apartment and through the door, closing it behind her. At the sight of his demolished livingroom, she felt her heart sink lower within in. She hurried into his bedroom. He was in the exact position she'd left him; Elira started to panic and quickly dropped to her knees at his side to check his vital signs. She was frustrated to find herself unable to tell if there had been any change to his heart or breathing rate. She stood and looked around the room as if there could be something she had missed that could possibly help her. And then desperation began to set in.  
  
'No. No. I am not going to lose it,' she told herself, breathing with deliberate slowness. 'Vincent needs me. I am not going to let him die. I've got to keep busy. I've got to keep focused...'  
  
As she looked down at Vincent, she realized that his position on the floor looked uncomfortable. She glanced at the bed, but frowned when she saw again the damage that had been done to it. And then she had an idea. Stepping around the bed, she picked up the mattress and turned it over awkwardly. This side was undamaged. Then, with a sigh, she turned to Vincent.  
  
He was heavier than she'd thought possible for such a skinny man. With some effort, though, she managed to hoist him onto the bed where she arranged him until he looked comfortable, placing a discarded pillow under his head. And then she sat on the bed beside him, trying to continue thinking rationally. What could she do? What could she do? What could she...  
  
'Maybe if I feed him something.' Elira nodded to herself. Yes, she could feed him something. Maybe that would cause him to vomit up the pills he'd ingested. But what could she feed him? Solid food was definitely out; he could choke on it. How about soup? Elira stood and paced quickly into the kitchen. Dodging broken dishes and other assorted objects, she searched through Vincent's cupboards, eventually coming up with a can of tomato soup. Picking up a pot from the floor beside her, she made her way to the stove and placed it on the burner. It took Elira a minute or two to find a can opener, but less than thirty seconds to open the can once she'd found it. She dumped the red globs of processed tomato into the pot and poured in one can of milk instead of water to give it more substance. And she turned the burner on.  
  
As she was stirring the soup, she thought she heard something. Frowning, she walked out of the kitchen and took a step toward the bedroom. The sound came again, a deep moan.  
  
Elira was at the bedside within seconds.  
  
Vincent turned his head one way and then the other, wincing convulsively. His shoulders jerked suddenly and he gave another moan. Elira wondered if he was in pain. Maybe enough of the drugs had been taken into his system to kill him. Almost frozen still with her panic, she was unable to do anything but watch him writhe about on the bed. And then, finally, she shot out her hands and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "Vincent! Vincent!" Her voice trembled, sounding odd in her own ears. 'Don't die, don't die!' her mind echoed her.  
  
"...no.............Lu...........Lu...cre...cia..."  
  
Elira gripped him harder. "Vincent!"  
  
"No........."  
  
Elira shook him again, sobbing out breaths. Suddenly, his eyes opened, revealing two pinpoints of pupils almost lost within the red miasma that was his irises. His gaze bore into her. Elira felt her hold loosen in surprise. "Vincent?" she whispered.  
  
He didn't answer. He seemed to be looking right through her. "Please," he said hoarsely, his lips barely moving, ".....forgive......me....."  
  
Elira's own lips trembled. Her shivering fingers caressed his warm cheek. His eyes rolled back into his head and he became very still. Elira tried to control her panic as she put two unsteady fingers to his neck. There was still a pulse. She kept her fingers there a few moments longer than necessary, almost afraid that it would stop beneath her touch. And then she withdrew, not taking her eyes from him until she came to the bedroom doorway.  
  
A layer of the soup had burned to the bottom of the pot. With a curse, Elira poured the salvageable part into one of the few bowls that hadn't been broken and scraped the rest into a small garbage pail she found beneath the sink. She then grabbed a spoon from the cutlery drawer and headed carefully to the bedroom, soup in hand.  
  
It took her a few minutes to prop Vincent up enough that he would be able to swallow the soup, putting the pillow against the headboard so that his shoulders could rest on it. And then, pushing his head back until it, too, lay against the headboard, she opened his mouth and put a spoonful of tomato soup between his teeth. After a moment, he swallowed reflexively. Elira smiled. At least this was going well.  
  
He had pleaded for her forgiveness. Well, not exactly. He hadn't been completely aware at the time. But perhaps, in some part of his subconscious mind, he had recognized her voice and had said the words that had been haunting him since his realization that he had hurt her. Yes, she would forgive him; she would forgive him one hundred times over if it would draw him back from the brink of death.  
  
But what had he said prior to that? Lu...crecia? Had that been it? What did it mean? It sounded like a name.  
  
Elira quickly force-fed him the rest of the soup and then stayed beside him, waiting for the effects. But there weren't any. After almost half an hour of waiting, Elira's worrying began to get the better of her. If he didn't vomit, the drug wouldn't come out of his system and it could kill him. She belatedly regretted not running out of the building and using a payphone to call the hospital. Why had she thought she could handle this? It was obvious that she had no expertise in this area; she was no doctor. But, she hadn't wanted to leave him.  
  
And she still didn't want to leave him. If she went off to find a phone, he might awaken and have a moment of clarity before falling back into unconsciousness or, God forbid, before passing away. She would miss the moment if she wasn't there, and she wouldn't be able to tell him she forgave him. She wouldn't be able to ask him for his forgiveness for bringing him to this.  
  
She'd never been able to ask Eagan to forgive her. She'd never been given the chance to forgive him, either. And now she carried the guilt around with her like a burden.  
  
So, maybe it was selfish, and maybe it would end up being euthanasia. But she was going to stay with him.  
  
She moved Vincent gently until he was again lying flat on the mattress and removed his boots, putting them by the foot of the bed. She then picked up a blanket from the floor and threw it over him. He had no chairs for her to sit on next to the bed. And so she crawled up beside him and lay down on her side on top of the blanket. Instinctively, she draped one arm across his stomach; it was the only way she remembered lying beside him.  
  
She would take her chances.  
  
Vincent had two more episodes that afternoon, but each one, instead of draining him, seemed to energize him. The third and last had the longest duration, almost five minutes, and a new word, something that sounded like 'ho-jo', started coming up with as much frequency as 'lucrecia'. At one point he even sat up, trying with his eyes wide-open and unseeing to leave the bed. But Elira grabbed him around the waist before he was able to get very far, holding him back. He started to thrash his arms, but just as Elira began to cry out in fear that he would injure her, he fell limply against her. She set him back down warily.  
  
But the episodes never gave way to one moment of sentient thought. Elira wondered anxiously whether the aggressiveness meant his condition was improving or he was getting closer to the end. Maybe the drugs were just giving him a dizzying high before the final drop.  
  
But he didn't die.  
  
It was a little after six when his eyelids fluttered open; Elira knew immediately that it wasn't another episode. Each of those had been sudden. This awakening came in levels, as if Vincent were climbing a ladder of consciousness. And then, kneeling over him, holding her breath, she saw rational eyes return her look. And then Vincent frowned, squinting against the light from the window as the sun set over Neo-Midgar.  
  
"Elira?" he croaked.  
  
"Yes." He was alive. She wanted to hug him, to hold him, to even just put a hand to his cheek. But she restrained herself. "It's me."  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
What was she doing here? Shouldn't it be obvious? "You didn't come to work. I was worried."  
  
Vincent pushed himself up on shaky arms until he was sitting with his legs over the side of the mattress. Elira followed him, letting her own legs dangle over the edge. Strands of Vincent's hair fell across his face despite the bandana, but he didn't seem to notice. Elira had to force herself not to reach out and push them aside.  
  
Vincent put his right hand to his head and massaged his temple a couple of times with the heel of his palm. Elira peered at him in concern. "Are you all right?"  
  
He nodded slightly and Elira saw him wince.  
  
"Do you want anything? I can make you something to eat, or get you some water or something."  
  
He shook his head, closing his eyes. After a moment, he took a breath as if to calm himself.  
  
Elira peered harder at him, noticing the small frown lines between his eyebrows. "Are you sure you're all right?"  
  
Vincent didn't answer. Elira wondered if he even knew the answer.  
  
A silent minute passed before Vincent stood. Elira followed him unbidden. He stopped walking at the corner of the kitchen, surveying the damage.  
  
"Do you know what happened, Vincent?" Elira asked quietly. "Or was it like this when you got here?"  
  
Vincent made no reply. He stepped carefully through the kitchen and went into the livingroom. Shoving a few of the books aside with a foot, he sat down amid the mess with his back to her.  
  
"Vincent? Please answer me. Why'd you take those pills?"  
  
He ignored the question as if he hadn't heard her. She became a little frustrated. She'd stayed by him for hours, suffered with him through his small incidents of delirium, fed him soup, and now he wasn't even willing to look at her. She deserved an explanation, didn't she? She deserved to at least know why he'd swallowed half a bottle of depressants.  
  
"Vincent," she began, stepping towards him. He didn't make a move. Elira steeled herself against his coldness and continued. "I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday. I was just...angry because you wouldn't explain. I didn't really mean it when I said I never wanted to speak to you again."  
  
Vincent still said nothing.  
  
"Are you mad at me?" Elira asked after a pause. No answer. "I'm sorry about everything. Did you...did you do this because of me? I'm so sorry. I...I'll leave you alone from now on if you want."  
  
Vincent remained silent. Elira tried not to crumble where she was. Slowly, she turned but kept her eyes on him. It grieved her to think that this would probably be the last time she'd ever see him. He didn't glance over his shoulder, unwilling to let his memory have a departing picture of her. Clenching her teeth on her feelings, she directed her face forward, ready to leave.  
  
"You shouldn't apologize for another man's sin, Elira. The fault has always been mine."  
  
Elira pivoted suddenly, intent on approaching him and telling him he was wrong. She wanted to say that she forgave him every sin he thought he'd committed. But before she'd taken a full step, he spoke again.  
  
"Please, go. I'll see you at work tomorrow."  
  
She wanted to say no. She wanted to go to him anyway. But he looked so pitiful amongst the confusion that had once been his living room that she could deny him nothing. And so, she departed.  
  
Upon entering her shop a little later, she went straight to her apartment to hang up her coat. Before she'd even grabbed a hanger, however, Benita rushed into the flat behind her, shutting the door quickly as if she'd had someone chasing her. Elira looked at her strangely.  
  
"What is it, Benita? What's wrong?"  
  
"We got a real important call while you were gone, Lir."  
  
Elira put her coat away. "The heck you say."  
  
"This is serious, Lir. It was Terry's brother. He says Terry was almost killed last night."  
  
Elira turned to Benita swiftly, fearfully.  
  
Benita nodded, and Elira noticed for the first time how pale the woman's face was. "Some'n mauled him, an animal or some'n. Tore him up real bad; he lost a lot a blood. Lost an eye, too. Doctors managed to save 'im, though."  
  
Elira put a quivering hand to her mouth. "Oh my god. An...an animal? What kind of animal?"  
  
"I dunno. That's the strange thing. There shouldn't be any animals loose in Neo-Midgar. There ain't even a zoo for an animal to escape from. Maybe some'n got over the wall, but I dunno..."  
  
Elira shook her head. The walls of the city had been built specifically to keep monsters out. Still trembling with a cold fist of fear in her stomach she asked, "Is Terry going to be okay?"  
  
"The doctors think so. Tonight's s'posed to be the critical time, but they say he's got a good chance a survivin'."  
  
Elira nodded slowly, staring vacantly into her closet. Only when Benita gave her a tap on the arm did she return to the present. And then she followed the older woman down the stairs, her mind twirling. Why was all of this happening? Why was everyone getting hurt? Vincent, Terry...Eagan...  
  
If Elira had believed in that sort of thing, she might've thought it was all fate's doing. 


	10. Let Sleeping Demons Lie

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Nine: Let Sleeping Demons Lie  
  
by thelittletree  
  
True to his word, Vincent did arrive at work the next day, but in body only. He was like a machine. He came through the door at nine o'clock in the morning almost to the second, worked efficiently until noon, left for the allotted hour, returned at exactly one, and then continued working. At nine in the evening, he stopped in the middle of what he'd been doing and exited the shop. His expression never changed during the day; it was as if it had been chiseled out of stone.  
  
It didn't take a genius to see that he was in some inner turmoil. But, Elira wondered if it would take a diviner to see what that turmoil was.  
  
He didn't miss another day. Elira almost wished a couple of times that, just once more, he wouldn't show up so that she could run to his apartment and have a few of the mysteries solved. Because she had a feeling that Vincent was never going to tell her what had happened to make him take those pills, or what had happened to his apartment, assuming he knew. She'd entertained the thought at first that maybe he was a hunted man and that the people pursuing him had finally found him. So, he had come home that night to find his flat in shambles, and, in his moment of defenseless shock, he'd been ambushed. And they'd tried to make his death look like a suicide.  
  
But, her mind had argued moments later, if that was the case why would Vincent still be in Neo-Midgar? If she had been in a position like that, she would've left the city the minute she'd recovered her senses.  
  
It took a week of battering her brains in vain before she came to the conclusion that she would never figure out what had happened on her own. So she could make one of two choices: she could forget all about it and honor Vincent's request that they both back off, or she could continue trying to gain his friendship at the risk of chasing him away altogether.  
  
She'd said she was willing to take the risk. And what did she have to lose? He was gone in all but body now.  
  
But, if she was going to approach him again it would have to be subtle. So, after Vincent left in the evenings, she began taking the later train to MiraCletus with a gun and a clip of bullets in her pockets. And she would go to the park, hoping to 'accidentally' bump into him. She would spend an hour waiting for him, shooting at bottles. But he never came. The only relationship that developed out of her trips to the park was the one between herself and the gun. She began shattering bottles.  
  
And although this brought her satisfaction, it wasn't bringing her any closer to Vincent. She needed another way of subtly getting them alone together where he couldn't run away.  
  
When she got a call a few days later from the curator of a high security museum in Odriam, sector seven, who'd heard good things about her shop and wanted an opinion on whether or not the restoration of some very old guns was possible, Elira took less than a second to decide who would come with her. After all, Vincent Valentine was full of mysteries. Who knew what he had harbored in that barred and locked mind?  
  
Vincent didn't argue when she told him that he would be accompanying her to Odriam. He didn't say anything. He nodded once without looking up from his work. And Elira returned to her desk, silently cheering.  
  
When the day of the jaunt to sector seven arrived, Elira waited until the rest of the employees were settled before leaving Benita in charge. Vincent followed behind her as they walked to the train station, but Elira didn't let his distance bother her as she soaked in the peace of a morning in Virna that she so rarely got to see.  
  
The station was quite crowded as people prepared to start a day shift or to get off a night shift. Elira paid for both of their tickets out of revenues, since this was officially a business trip, and led the way onto the train. Because of the crowd, it was impossible for them to get seats together, so, while Vincent slipped in beside a small, balding man who looked like he could've been an executive for some corporation, Elira found a remaining seat beside a teenager. He was a tall, skinny youth with green, spiky hair and many assorted face rings. Elira tried not to notice the way he leered at her when she sat.  
  
They rode in silence for a few minutes, but once they were out of sector four the boy turned to her. "Hello, ma'am. Nice day, huh? Where're you headed?"  
  
Elira looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He couldn't have been any more than eighteen. His tone of voice was mockingly friendly and something about his expression made her uncomfortable. She wished suddenly that she hadn't taken the first seat she'd seen.  
  
"You know, I asked you a question, ma'am," the boy continued in the same sickly sweet voice. "It isn't polite not to answer."  
  
Elira didn't look at him, not wanting to answer, but also not wanting to create a scene. It wasn't uncommon for a teenager to follow someone down the street as a joke, talking to them as if they knew them, but sometimes it could get ugly. Depending on the teenager, a victim of this treatment could, at the least, find themselves being pelted with rocks or wind up with a knife in their back.  
  
"Odriam."  
  
The boy gave a little chuckle. "What a coincidence. That's where I get off. Maybe I can take you somewhere nice, ma'am."  
  
Elira shifted nervously in her seat. The longer this conversation lasted, the less she liked it. She stiffened as the boy leaned over and put his lips next to her ear.  
  
"Do you want to fuck me?" Then he leaned away from her, laughing and snorting as if what he'd said had been the most witty thing in the world.  
  
He had foul breath, as if he had been drinking recently. Elira glanced around nervously, but it didn't look as if anyone around her realized her discomfort. Or, if they realized it, they didn't care to get involved. She wanted to look over her shoulder at Vincent who was sitting a few seats down, but she dared not move too obviously. If the teenager got the impression she was thinking of getting up, who knew what he would try. Maybe nothing. Maybe he was harmless, a kid looking for a laugh. But maybe he was willing to injure, rape, or kill.  
  
In any case, it was better to stay where she was, she decided. She'd handled her share of rude men, so she could handle this. And, if he was dangerous, she didn't want to rile him.  
  
It was an eternity until the train stopped at Odriam, sector seven. The boy was still seated beside her, though she had been eyeing the seats that had opened up around her as other passengers got off at their respective stations. Now, even before the car had finished slowing, she was preparing to stand and dash away. But, the boy seemed to know, as if he had done this hundreds of times. He put a sweaty hand around her wrist, keeping her in her seat until the train had come to a complete halt.  
  
"Here's our stop, ma'am," he said quietly in her ear. Then, still gripping her wrist tightly, he bent over and retrieved a switchblade from his boot. Elira tried not to look at it. "Now, we'll get off together. And I want you to be a nice lady for me."  
  
As people began to stand, he ushered her up, turning her so that he was holding her arm behind her. She inhaled sharply as she felt the point of the knife through the back of her coat. The boy urged her forward and she took a few steps, her heart beating frantically even though she was doing her best to remain calm. Panicking now would not help her.  
  
She turned into the aisle, her eyes searching for Vincent among the people standing. But she was unable to find him. She bit her tongue to keep herself from whimpering. Perhaps he'd gotten off once the train had stopped, uninterested in waiting for her. She'd already informed him of the whereabouts of the museum. But as the car emptied she noticed that he was still seated, his eyes downcast as if he was going on to Penora. She felt a wave of relief. He'd waited. But did he know about her situation? She wanted to cough, or clear her throat, or even 'accidentally' kick Vincent as the boy forced her past him, but for all she knew the boy might recognize her cry for help and stab her. Maybe it would be safer to wait until he'd taken her off the train so that Vincent could see the situation for himself.  
  
But would Vincent do anything?  
  
This thought almost choked her into giving a fearful sob. He wanted her to leave him alone. Maybe he didn't care anymore what happened to her. If this boy took her away, it would likely ensure that he would never be bothered by her again.  
  
It didn't matter. She would cough as she passed and at least alert him to her predicament. And then, whatever happened, happened. She had to put up some kind of a fight to this. She would not go gently...  
  
Vincent didn't look up as she walked past. But, just as she was just getting ready to cough, the sudden sound of movement distracted her. A second later, she was abruptly jerked around as the hand holding her wrist yanked her back. Then the fingers were ripped away and she found herself looking into the bulging eyes of the teenager, a foot above her now, his face turning a shade of purple that clashed with his hair.  
  
Vincent was standing with his back to her, one boot on the mat in the aisle and the other hidden behind his seat. His left arm was stretched out before him, the metal fingers of his prosthetic clamped around the boy's throat. For his part, the teenager was gasping and choking, clawing desperately at the golden hand in an effort to pry it loose. But Vincent didn't let go. For a long few moments he stood like that, unmoving. Elira was starting to worry that Vincent didn't intend to release the boy at all when he finally thrust his arm forward, propelling the teenager onto his back along the aisle. The switchblade skittered away under the seats.  
  
The teenager lay there for a moment, stunned, before he struggled to push himself up, his eyes wide and staring at Vincent as if he was looking death in the face. He drew lungful after painful lungful of air, one hand clamped around his neck where Vincent had been gripping him.  
  
Vincent turned around suddenly and Elira saw something burning in his eyes that she had never seen before. It frightened her, as did the realization that he could've killed that boy. Peripherally, she noticed the astonished and fearful stares of the passengers in the car. And after a moment, she found that she was becoming a little afraid of him, too. Dressed in black with his hair hanging as wildly as it ever had, his red eyes bright in his pale face, he looked a little demonic.  
  
But this was the same Vincent, the one who, once upon a time, had given those tiny smiles, the one she had learned to care about.  
  
His eyes were doing a quick search of her face and he was suddenly the old Vincent again. Elira could see a question in his gaze, and...shame? Resolutely, she wiped all traces of fright from her features. He had saved her life. There was no shame in that. But she wondered what she'd seen in his eyes when he'd turned. What had almost surfaced in dealing with that teenager?  
  
Vincent abruptly broke off his inspection and looked up, making motions with his hands to indicate that he wanted her to get off the train. She complied.  
  
The train station was empty now, all of the passengers having departed for work or home. Vincent jogged hastily down the stone steps of the platform and began to walk swiftly away from the station in the direction of the museum. Elira called after him, trying to remind him that she'd brought money for a taxi, but he either didn't hear or didn't want to hear. With a sigh of frustration, she shoved her money back into her pocket and ran after him.  
  
He didn't look at her as she came up beside him, struggling to keep the pace he'd set. She though he probably wouldn't tell her, but she couldn't keep from asking. "Vincent, what's wrong?"  
  
She was not disappointed. He gave no answer. She sighed in resignation. "Well, anyway, thank you. You probably just saved my life."  
  
He gave a small scoff that puffed his breath out in a cloud of steaming air and stopped walking. Then, looking desperate and intent, he leaned in toward her and began talking quietly. "I know you saw it, Elira. I know you saw it in my eyes. Don't even try to deny it." His gaze was penetrating, as if he was daring her to contradict him.  
  
Elira frowned in confusion. "Saw what? Vincent, everyone gets angry. Frankly, I'm glad you did or that kid might've carted me off to do terrible things to me. I think he deserved what he got."  
  
Vincent quickly shook his head. "That's not what I mean. You saw the look that said I had been ready to break his neck. I know you did. You were afraid of me." Something like pain flickered across his expression.  
  
Elira rolled her eyes. "Is that what this is about? Vincent, *I* felt like breaking his neck."  
  
Vincent leaned in closer, his eyes seeming to glow brighter as his dark form blocked out the light. "But you saw my hunger for the kill."  
  
Elira took a breath but could not deny it, remembering the way he'd looked.  
  
When she didn't reply to him, Vincent withdrew and dropped his eyes. "I'm dangerous, Elira. You have to understand that, and you have to leave me alone. I hurt people."  
  
Elira raised her chin. "Vincent, don't talk like that. People get angry. It happens. Maybe it's something you have to deal with but that doesn't mean you have to cut yourself off from everyone."  
  
But Vincent was shaking his head again. "Elira, there are things you don't know about me, things you can't know. I've been cursed by fate for the things I've done."  
  
Elira scowled. "Vincent, there's no such thing as fate!"  
  
Vincent looked at her suddenly and there was an expression of longing and pain so vivid on his face that Elira almost wanted to apologize. But Vincent was already speaking. "Fate does exist, Elira. Nothing else explains it. You're like her, but I let her die. So you'll die, too..."  
  
Elira was becoming worried. He had never been this worked up before. "Vincent, what are you talking about? Fate's just a word we use when we're afraid that something bad is going to happen. It's not real." Maybe she was afraid to give her heart away because of what had happened to Eagan, because of the fear that the same thing would happen again. But it was still just fear. Nothing more.  
  
Vincent stepped up to her again and his expression was hard, to hide what he was feeling. "Maybe you can believe that, but I can't. For failing to protect the only person I'd ever loved, fate cursed me. And now, history is repeating itself. I can't become close to you because fate will find a way to kill you."  
  
He was practically talking about fate like it was sentient being. "How would fate do that? An act of God? This is where the risk comes in. We're both just afraid the same thing will happen to us that happened before. That's what it is. It's not fate!"  
  
"Elira, it can and will happen again. As punishment, fate has made me into the thing that will kill you. Unless you leave me alone, *I* will be your death." His eyes were pleading, willing her to believe.  
  
But Elira couldn't believe. There was no such thing as fate. The fear of losing another person had just affected Vincent so badly that he could no longer see past it. How could he be her death?  
  
And then, suddenly, she began to fear those things that she didn't, couldn't know about him.  
  
Vincent turned from her and began walking along the deserted sidewalk as if he hadn't said anything. Elira hurried to catch up with him. "Vincent, what has fate made you into? What makes you so dangerous?"  
  
But Vincent didn't answer.  
  
"Vincent, tell me. Please. It won't change the way I think of you."  
  
"It's nothing you have ever had to deal with before. You don't know the extent of what you can forgive and accept."  
  
"Well, neither do you! I'll decide what I can accept, and I'll decide what's dangerous for me. But, for me to be able to make that decision, I need to know what you think is so wrong with you."  
  
He didn't look at her. "Leave it be, Elira. And leave me be. Let sleeping demons lie."  
  
Elira gave a sigh and continued walking in silence. Getting Vincent alone with her hadn't brought them closer, and, instead of answering questions, it had only created more of them, and these ones unsettled her. The morning was suddenly not nearly as pleasant as she'd thought.  
  
The museum was a two-story building surrounded by a tall, thick wall of white rock and closed off at the entrance with a high iron gate. Elira ended up spending a good ten minutes trying to convince the guard on the other side of the gate that she was a gunsmith and had been called by the curator to inspect his weaponry displays. Irritated, the guard finally used the intercom to speak to the curator and found out, to his displeasure, that Elira was telling the truth. It took every ounce of her self-control to smile at the man as she entered instead of telling him she hoped he got fired because of this.  
  
The interior of the building was immense and richly decorated with designs both modern and historical. The roof stretched away above her and spiraling staircases stood across the room, leading up to the second level. The floor was a hard tan paneling that squeaked a little under Elira's sneakers. Surrounded on all sides by beauty and art, she found herself feeling somewhat small and ugly dressed in her favorite overalls and jacket, and she was suddenly very aware of her unprimped curls and her freckles. She had considered dressing up at first, but had then decided against it. She was Elira Maddison, just trying to eke out a living doing the thing she loved. And anyway, she thought a moment later, the curator had hired her for her talents and not her splendor. Odriam had its own gunsmiths, after all, who were probably much classier. If he'd been looking for pomp and grandeur, he could've called one of them. And so, she held herself with all of the confidence she could muster while looking around in awe at this great collection of works.  
  
After a few moments, she allowed herself a glance at Vincent. Obviously not a strong connoisseur of the arts, he was staring straight ahead at an undefined point, as rigid as if he were a soldier in ranks. In other circumstances, Elira might've been tempted to tease him about his posture. Instead, she looked away again, trying to seem absorbed.  
  
The curator, an elderly, heavy-set gentleman wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a navy blue suit, appeared at the top of one of the staircases. After a pause, he started down the steps. It took him less time than Elira would've imagined to cross the expanse separating the stairs from the front door, his thick legs carrying him quickly across the polished floor.  
  
"Ah, hello Miss...Maddison, was it? Yes, of course. Forgive my wandering mind. I'd forgotten you were coming today." He chuckled deeply and Elira allowed him a forgiving smile. "I hope Mr. Jaron didn't give you too hard a time at the gate."  
  
Elira shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing we couldn't handle."  
  
"Excellent, excellent." He put his aged hands together and turned his bespectacled gaze to Vincent. "And you must be the fellow gunsmith Miss Maddison was telling me about. It's wonderful to meet you. I am Mr. Geddes, the curator of this museum. And you are?"  
  
"Vincent Valentine."  
  
Mr. Geddes' eyes took in Vincent's rather dark and disheveled appearance, prosthetic and all, in one quick sweep without any reaction. Elira was impressed.  
  
Mr. Geddes gave a small sigh. "Well, Mr. Valentine, Miss Maddison, I do hope that you will be able to help our museum restore a number of our more famous relics."  
  
"We'll do what we can," Elira replied.  
  
Mr. Geddes smiled. "That's all I ask of you. Now please, if you'll follow me." He turned and led the way back up the curving stairway. Elira fell in behind him, Vincent walking a few paces after her.  
  
If possible, the second floor was even more magnificent than the first. Large chandeliers hung languidly from the ceiling, shedding their prismatic light around the rooms. Suits of armor from different times stood stoically in wall slots; swords of unequaled beauty were on display behind glass cases; brightly coloured shields and pennants adorned the walls. Elira found herself gaping again and again at different sights as they walked. Although guns were her passion, she had a reverent admiration for other weapons of battle and their histories, as well as the development of protective armors over the centuries.  
  
As they stepped into the room where the museum kept its store of firearms, Elira became like the proverbial child in the candy store. She'd dreamed sometimes of visiting a museum like this, though she'd never really had the time. Delighted, she looked around, hoping to see examples of the weapons in the gunsmith's ancient book. And then she turned to see if Vincent was as touched by this sight as she was.  
  
Vincent's attention seemed to have been captured by a certain gun, held to the wall with a couple of iron hooks behind a glass box. Elira backtracked a few steps to see if she recognized the model. It was a large, unwieldy-looking thing with a wooden butt as long as her arm and a barrel that might've reached from her hip to halfway down her shin. As she was searching her memory banks for an image of it, Mr. Geddes began to speak from behind her.  
  
"Ah, I see Mr. Valentine has an eye for the uncommon and extraordinary. This particular gun is almost fifty years old. I found it at a rarity shop here in Neo-Midgar three years ago; the man who sold it to me said he'd bought it from a mountain climber who claimed to have found it way up north, while scaling Gaea's Cliff. Odd, hmm?" He gave a chuckle. "It's rumored that it once belonged to one of the legendary heroes who battled Sephiroth."  
  
Caught up suddenly in the stories Barret had told her about himself and eight others who had saved the planet, Elira held her breath. She'd been only thirteen when the fateful battle had taken place. Her father had kept her inside the entire time Meteor had hung in the sky, barreling down at speeds no mind could comprehend; she'd learned later that Avalanche had been through their small town of Kalm numerous times. She'd mourned the lost chance of catching a glimpse of them, the only ones brave enough to go. She'd felt she was brave enough, but her father had persuaded her that the greatest service she could do them was to stay out of their way.  
  
"What's its name?" she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.  
  
"The Death Penalty."  
  
Elira glanced at Vincent just as Mr. Geddes did. Both men had answered her at the same time. Elira was made to recall the conversation she had overheard between Vincent and Barret. Was it possible that Vincent knew this gun? Or, more astonishingly, had, at one point over ten years ago, owned this gun? It seemed too incredible to believe.  
  
"So you know of it?" Mr. Geddes asked.  
  
The answer was obvious, but Vincent nodded anyway. He continued standing in front of the glass for a few moments longer as if staring into the face of a dead loved one, saying one last good-bye before the closing of the casket. And then he turned and nodded once to Mr. Geddes. The old man smiled and began to lead the way again.  
  
The guns in question were quite aged, and there were more than a few of them. Elira and Vincent inspected them through the glass, giving what opinion they could. And Vincent did indeed have some good thoughts to offer on the subject, often pointing out small details about certain guns that would make the restoration process easier or more difficult. By the time they had to leave, they hadn't gotten more than halfway through the collection of weapons. Mr. Geddes thanked them profusely for their help, asking if perhaps they would return in the following week at the same time. Elira agreed readily, more than eager to browse among the guns again with such a source as Vincent by her side.  
  
Elira smiled as she stepped out of the museum, feeling the cold air nip at her nose and cheeks. Her mood had lifted; looking at the guns had nearly made her forget what had happened earlier that morning. She was about to ask Vincent if he would come with her next week, too, when she saw him turn her way suddenly. But he wasn't turning to look at her. It was a noise from behind them that had caught his attention, a whistling noise as if a rock were being thrown through the air. Elira heard it only a split-second before she felt herself being pushed out of the way. She stumbled and fell onto her backside, scraping her palms on the cement. At the same time, she heard Vincent give a sudden grunt.  
  
When she looked up, it was to see Vincent hunched over a little with his right hand clutching at his left shoulder. Elira's eyes widened as she saw the handle of a small blade protruding from his upper arm. For some reason, the handle looked familiar. Vincent gripped it and, clenching his teeth, yanked the dagger out and threw it to the ground. Elira winced at the small spurt of blood that followed it.  
  
Obnoxious laughter filled the air. Elira lifted her eyes from Vincent and searched the area in both rage and fear for the source. She wondered as her eyes frantically swept the district if Odriam had as bad a problem with street violence as Virna. It would explain the high security at the museum, she realized. And then she saw him.  
  
It was the same hair, the same distastefully decorated face. She instantly recognized the boy from the train.  
  
He was still laughing, though his eyes were filled with anger when they met Elira's. "That was aimed for you, bitch!" he shouted from where he stood, half a block away. "If that freak hadn't pushed you out of the way, you'd be dead now!" His words dissolved into another fit of wrathful laughter.  
  
Vincent took a step toward her and held out his hand to help her up. There was blood on the fingers of his glove, but she took his offered grip anyway. "Are you all right?" she asked him, trying to get a look at his arm.  
  
"I'm fine," he told her shortly, brushing her off. "Let's get out of here." He was still holding her hand as he started walking and Elira felt the tingle of contact despite her fear. But then Vincent looked back, and a second later Elira heard the running footsteps behind them. The teenager wasn't finished with them. Vincent looked angrier than she'd ever seen him as he released her hand and urged her behind him.  
  
"I'm warning you, leave us alone," Vincent told the boy.  
  
The teenager slowed down and stopped a few feet from them. Elira could see bruise marks starting on his neck where Vincent had gripped him. But he was grinning and pulling a pistol out of the top of his pants. "Fuck you, man. I want your money."  
  
Elira was just about to reach for her wallet when Vincent stepped forward. The boy leveled the gun at him but, before he could fire it, Vincent absently knocked his arm away and the shot went wild. At the sound of the retort, Elira ducked with a cry. Oh god, they were going to die! When she next looked up, Vincent was grappling with the teenager, a permanent grimace on his face as the boy gripped his upper arm where the blade had gone in. Elira could see the growing blood stain on Vincent's coat and the teenager's fingers were smudged crimson. And then Vincent pushed the boy away. That's when Elira noticed that something was wrong with Vincent's eyes. They were completely red. Even his pupils were gone.  
  
"Leave us!" Vincent said harshly and a shudder seemed to go through him.  
  
But the teenager still had his gun, and he leveled it again at Vincent. "Gimme your money!" he demanded, though now he seemed a little less sure of himself. Then he swung the gun toward Elira. "Or I'll kill her!"  
  
Elira felt every inch of her skin prickle as she stared at the gun. Her mind was screaming at her to run, *run*, but she felt frozen to the ground. Before the teenager could do anything, however, there was a sound. A snarl to be exact, like you'd expect to hear from an animal. And, before the boy could turn the gun again, Vincent was on him. He pulled the gun roughly out of the boy's grip and threw it behind him. Then he grabbed the front of the teenager's shirt and shook him. "Do you hear me? Get out of here before..." He didn't get to finish. His words were abruptly cut off as he doubled-up, groaning. And then, what had started as a groan turned into a screaming howl.  
  
The boy stumbled away, his eyes wide and horrified as Vincent began to *change*. Within the space of a few seconds, his ears had elongated and his teeth had grown into terrible fangs. With another moan, a heart-wrenchingly human sound, Vincent got to his feet and Elira saw him stumble as he was thrust one way and then the other as huge blood-black wings, like canopies, sprouted out of his shoulder blades. This had to be a dream. She was dreaming, right? Like the observer in a nightmare, Elira couldn't move or speak, even when Vincent turned to look right at her. It was a sight she would never forget. For a moment it was still him, desperate and frightened, trying to beg her with his eyes to do something. Help him? Get out of there? She couldn't tell. And then he was moaning again and falling to one knee, clutching his abdomen.  
  
Then, as suddenly as if she had been shown a picture, Elira saw the pieces begin to fall together. A punishment from fate, something far beyond what she could accept or forgive. There was another muffled sound of anguish from Vincent and his body began to grow. And yet, his clothing did not rip; it was ignored as grayish muscles bulged out of his arms. His hands, even the prosthetic, were changing into grotesque claws.  
  
Claws that looked sharp enough to shred a shower curtain, rip through a mattress.  
  
Elira felt the revelation like a blow to the head. No one had broken into his apartment. It had been he himself who had done the damage. And the sleeping pills? Had he taken them to drug himself into a stupor strong enough to stop this...this transformation?  
  
Before he could injure someone?  
  
Elira looked to the boy and saw the horrified stupefaction on his face as he watched Vincent continue to change into something that looked like it had come straight from hell. The very presence it exuded was evil. She had no drugs with her. There was no way to stop him. Desperately, she stood and, running up to the teenanger, pushed him suddenly. He stumbled and turned to her slowly as if he was coming out of a trance, his eyes wide.  
  
"Run," Elira told him. "Run for your life."  
  
The boy just stood staring at her for a moment longer. And then he took off like a shot down the street away from the museum, his footsteps pounding like a driving heartbeat.  
  
Vincent, or the creature that had been Vincent only moments before, raised his head at the sound. Elira caught her breath. Gone was the pale skin, the sharp angled face, the midnight hair. Everything she remembered had disappeared and been replaced with the distorted features of a monster: the lipless, leering mouth, the jaggedly pointed teeth, the horrible eyes. And yet, she could not feel terror now, knowing it was him. This was what he'd been trying to tell her. She imagined she would believe in fate, too, if she was him.  
  
Elira was jarred out of her thoughts as the creature suddenly used its powerful legs to propel itself upward, the huge wings opening reflexively as it came in contact with the air currents that rushed over the buildings. And then it took up the pursuit of the teenager, swooping downward toward the street, gaining speed with every passing second.  
  
Elira couldn't let it happen. She ran after Vincent though it was obvious that she would never catch up with him. After a few seconds, she stopped running to look after him desperately. With no other ideas, she inhaled deeply and forced out a scream. "Vincent!"  
  
She didn't know if she should expect any response since the creature looked so hell-bent on killing the boy who was now screaming down the street toward an intersection. So she was surprised when it halted in midair and, hovering, turned to look at her through pupiless eyes.  
  
Was it still Vincent? Did it even recognize her through the haze of rage that had brought it into being? It seemed to. Elira began to run again, watching the creature all the time. It kept its eyes on her as she approached, motionless except for the twitching of its wings, as if it were being plagued suddenly by a fit of indecision. And then, Elira saw an undefined expression cross its features. With a howl that sounded more like a wail of desolation than anything else, it turned from Elira and, affecting the position of its wings, rose on an air current and flew off over the sector.  
  
She had to follow him. She was almost positive that he was headed for his apartment, where those small white safeguards waited for him in a pill bottle. The next train making a stop at MiraCletus, she read from the timetable, was scheduled to pull in at Odriam's station in five minutes. She fidgeted the entire time, able to picture the havoc Vincent was wreaking in his living room. She prayed fervently that he wouldn't be tempted to harm himself. She prayed to God, to fate, to any listening deity.  
  
'Please...please, keep him safe until I get there...and then, while you're at it, keep me safe, too...' 


	11. In His Apartment

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Ten: In His Apartment  
  
by thelittletree  
  
The apartment door was not open, but it was unlocked. In fact, the knob was so loose that Elira expected it was broken. Had Vincent done that the last time, in too much of a hurry to find his key? Apprehensive but determined, Elira stepped hesitantly into the apartment's hallway and listened for any signs of occurring destruction. But there was only silence. And, despite her self-assurances that it was only the effects of the sleeping pills keeping Vincent subdued, Elira felt frightened. Trying to be silent, she crept toward the living room, seeing images of both a massive monster lunging at her for the kill, and of a bloodied Vincent sprawled on the floor, dead by his own hand. She didn't know which would be worse. Both would be agonizing in their own way.  
  
The living room was in an even more wretched state than the last time. Though Vincent was nowhere to be seen, evidence of his arrival was more than apparent. Two of the bookshelves had been tipped over, one on its side and the other on its front. The third had had its shelves broken into halves as if a massive fist had been driven down through the wood, snapping each shelf like so much dry straw. Books, again, had been thrown from their perches, some with scars scored across their covers. They lay on the carpet in the dull light of early afternoon like the injured of a battlefield. Worst of all, his patio window had been smashed in where she guessed Vincent had entered. Glass littered the floor, a silent tribute to the strength of the creature. But Elira didn't take more than a moment to digest all of this before heading for the bedroom.  
  
This room was still intact, at least. The bed lay untouched, the blankets pulled neatly over the mattress and the pillow as if Vincent had not slept in it the night before. Elira wondered idly if he had slept in it at all since that night that seemed forever ago. She knew if it had been her apartment, her bed, she would've slept on the couch until the memories had faded. For, even if a quick wash could remove a scent from the sheets, it took much more to wash away a recollection that didn't want to be forgotten.  
  
He was Vincent once more; every trace of the monster was gone. She found him lying on the floor beside the bed in almost the exact spot she'd discovered him before. But this time he was still conscious and trembling under the strength of the drugs as they presumably took effect. His gloved hand was wrapped tightly around the empty pill bottle, squeezing it mercilessly as if penalizing it for this uncomfortable aftermath. Elira dropped to her knees beside him, wondering if this fit of shivering had happened the last time he had taken the depressants. His eyebrows jerked as he frowned erratically, squinting against the anguish caused by the overdose. His lips were parted a little as he gasped for breath. Elira watched him anxiously even though she had seen him pull through this once before. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand and cupped his cheek.  
  
His skin was warm. At her touch, Vincent opened his eyes suddenly, his pupils no more than pinpoints of black. Elira thought at first that he was having an episode, but then his gaze focused on her and he made a small noise of dissatisfaction. "Leave, Elira." His voice was ragged as if it was taking all of his remaining strength to form the words.  
  
Elira shook her head gently. "No."  
  
He frowned, but the frown quickly dissolved into an expression of discomfort as he took a sharp breath, arching off of the floor. Elira leaned in closer to him, feeling rather useless as she watched him endure the physical affliction of the dosage. How could he expect her to leave when he was suffering this way? Absently, she pushed a stray lock of his hair from his face. If she left now, it would be too much like saying she was frightened. And, remembering the pain in his expression at the thought that she was afraid of him, she knew she couldn't do that.  
  
After a few moments of just sitting idle on the floor, Elira stood. She had to do something. Quickly she pulled the blanket from his bed and draped it over his shuddering form, tucking it in around him so he couldn't throw it off. He forced his eyes open every once in a while to watch her, but the light from the window seemed to irritate them. He tried to speak a couple of times, but before he managed to get much past the first two or three words, he would choke, gasping. Elira finally put two fingers to his lips.  
  
"Shh," she told him, staring into his momentarily-opened eyes determinedly. "I'm staying no matter what you say, Vincent, so you might as well save your strength." She then stood and left the bedroom, not leaving the topic open for discussion.  
  
The bathtub curtain was still shredded; Elira guessed that Vincent just hadn't bothered to get a new one. It didn't really surprise her. He wasn't the kind of person who worried much about appearances. If the curtain, although hanging in pieces, still served its purpose, who was he to change it? She shook her head a little at the thought and commenced a search of the bathroom for a washcloth. When she was unable to come up with one, she grabbed a towel instead and wet a corner of it in the sink.  
  
Vincent was still trembling miserably on the thin carpet. As Elira approached, he opened his eyes again. She thought his gaze seemed a little less focused than before as she knelt down at his side, hesitantly reaching up to his forehead. At first, she was a little confused by his bandana as she attempted to find an end she could begin unwinding at, but then she discovered a knot at the back of his neck where he tied the two end pieces together. With nimble fingers, she worked at the knot until it came undone in her hands. Then, lifting his head gently from the floor, she unwound the red strip of material until she had removed it. She then set it aside and touched the damp corner of the towel to his face. He watched her silently, though he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Soon, his shaking ceased to be so violent. Elira was relieved to see that the initial agony was coming to an end.  
  
Then Vincent took a slow, shuddering breath and tried to force his eyes to stay open. "Go...Elira. Please...go." His voice was sluggish and soft.  
  
Elira smiled at him as she swiped his brow and temples with the towel. "Go? And let you slip out of the sector when these drugs wear off, never to be seen again? I don't think so."  
  
Remaining conscious was fast becoming difficult for him. As he was opening his mouth to protest again, his eyes suddenly rolled back into his head and he became very still. Out of habit, Elira checked his heart and breathing rate. Sleeping like a log.  
  
If only because she'd done it the first time, Elira decided that she would put him on the bed. As she was pulling the blanket off of him, however, her fingers touched something warm and wet. Belatedly, she remembered his injured shoulder.  
  
After a moment of uncertainty, Elira decided that she'd better deal with the wound now rather than leave it until Vincent could tend to it himself. Moving around to his left side she carefully hoisted him into a sitting position and eased him out of his coat.  
  
The arm of his shirt and the inside of his coat sleeve were stained with his blood. Elira was initially uncomfortable with the thought of undressing him, but, since she couldn't think of any other way of getting at the wound except for cutting his shirt sleeve, she decided that it had to be done. Setting her teeth, she lay him back onto the floor and began to unbutton his shirt.  
  
He was so thin and pale, but the layer of long, lean muscle belied any idea that he might be weak. Elira tried not to look at him too much or touch him too long, but the memories were still there in the back of her mind, clamoring for attention. Even the tangy smell of blood couldn't overpower his own natural musk. Frowning, Elira gently coerced his left shoulder and the prosthetic piece of his arm out of his shirt. After that, his right arm was easier. When she came to his right hand, she pried the pill bottle from his fingers and then hesitated. *That* morning had been the only time she'd seen him without his glove. Long, tapered fingers, strong and without calluses. She hesitated for what was almost a scandalous amount of time before deciding she would leave the glove on. She wasn't here to ogle him, she reminded herself viciously.  
  
The blood was drying against his skin, caking over the wound. Elira went back into the bathroom and soaked a larger portion of the towel in the sink. She then spent a moment wringing out the excess water before heading back to Vincent's side and carefully cleaning the injury. When she'd finished she could find no bandages anywhere, so she wound his bandana tightly around his upper arm. Then, satisfied with her work, she dressed him in a clean shirt from his closet and prepared herself to lift him onto the bed.  
  
***  
  
Benita sighed and lay her chin in her hand, her elbow resting on the desk top. It was a slow day, slower than most, and Benita didn't need to run the business to know that. Almost an hour had passed since a customer had come and gone, and sitting here with the heat of the forge at her back she was slowly falling asleep. She was even beginning to think that she should've just stayed home the evening before.  
  
But how could she have passed up an invitation to the bar? Especially when the invitation came from a man she'd heard so much about already and was inclined to like, with the kind of attitude she respected. Benita wondered, not for the first time, if Barret Wallace could have been a part of a biker gang when he'd been younger.  
  
The jangle of the telephone almost caused her to start off of the stool. Flustered, she fumbled for the receiver, finally getting it right-side-up against her ear and mouth. "Y-yes?" She cursed inwardly at the unprofessionalism. What had happened to 'Hello, Maddison's Weaponry Station, Benita speaking'? She didn't have time to reflect further on her mistake, though, as the person on the other end began to talk.  
  
"Hi, Benita. This is Trodder. Is Elira around?"  
  
Benita sighed, glad her faux pas hadn't been caught by a customer. "No, she's out right now, Trod. Wha's up?"  
  
"Well, I was just calling to say that Terry's getting his bandages off today and that he wants to see Elira. He's really dead-set about it, too. He keeps saying that she's in some kind of danger that only he knows about."  
  
Benita raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure they aren't jus' giving him too many drugs?"  
  
Trodder gave a small laugh that was more of a grunt. "I don't know. I thought at first that maybe the surgery had left him kind of disoriented, but it's been almost two weeks. And Terry seems to be in his right mind. I'm not really sure what to make of it, but I promised him I'd call. Will you tell Elira that he wants to see her?"  
  
Benita gave a small sigh. Why couldn't Terry just take defeat gracefully? "Yeah, I'll tell her when I talk to her next."  
  
"Thanks, Benita. We'll talk later, all right?"  
  
"Yep. See ya Trod. Stay well."  
  
"You, too."  
  
Benita hung up the receiver, not so sleepy now. It really bothered her the way Terry was hanging on to Elira. He'd never seemed able to accept that she wasn't falling for him; and Benita suspected, now more than ever, that it wasn't love Terry wanted from Elira. Sometimes people want things simply because they're hard to get.  
  
Elira was wary around people in a way that Benita couldn't fathom. Over the years, she'd allowed them occasional glimpses into her life, but that was all. Benita had learned to accept Elira for this, but Terry really hadn't. He'd always been pushing at her, flirting with her, trying to drag her out of her shell in ways she didn't seem ready for.  
  
And then Vincent had shown up. Vincent, a man who reminded Benita more of Elira than anyone Benita had ever met. Terry must've seen the connection, too. Both of them kept to themselves and there was the vague impression of something in the past they didn't want to talk about. It seemed appropriate, somehow, that they should get together. Too bad it didn't seem to be working out.  
  
Benita was brought out of her thoughts as some raucous laughter filtered out from the forge. The boys had quit working again. Sitting up, Benita stretched her arms over her head. Maybe it was time to start cracking some heads.  
  
The phone rang a second time. Benita gave a small exclamation of surprise. And then, with an irritated frown, she grabbed for the receiver. "Yeah," she answered, perhaps a little sourly, not even attempting to sound professional. The news about Terry had ruined her mood and she wasn't going to fake a cheerful disposition.  
  
"Benita?"  
  
Benita almost dropped the phone upon hearing Elira's voice. "Lir, is that you?"  
  
"Um, yeah, it's me. Are you having a bad day today or do you always answer the phone this way when I'm not around?"  
  
Benita tried to scowl, but a smile broke through at Elira's teasing tone. "Well, you know me. Blunt as a dull knife."  
  
Elira chuckled. "Remind me never to hire you on as my secretary," she chided, though she sounded anything but reproachful.  
  
"It's not that big of a deal. No one's been calling today 'cept you and Terry's brother."  
  
There was a pause on the other end. "Trodder called?" It sounded like she was trying to ask casually, but there was an anxious ring to her voice that gave her away. "What did he have to say?"  
  
"Well," Benita began, willing to let Elira believe she'd fooled her, "he wanted to let'cha know that Terry wants to see ya at the hospital. He's gettin' the bandages off today."  
  
There was another period of silence. And then, "Okay. I guess I'll go...sometime soon. Vincent, um, got sick while we were at the museum, so I took him back to his apartment. Right now, I'm at a payphone at a convenience store. I had to buy him some soup. I don't know when I'll be back." Her voice trailed off.  
  
Benita frowned in concern. "Are you all right, Lir?"  
  
Yet another pause. "Yeah. I'm just a little...I don't know." Elira heaved a sigh that betrayed a troubled mind. "I don't think I want to deal with this right now."  
  
Benita shrugged, though Elira couldn't see the action. "Then don't. Wha's the problem?"  
  
Elira sighed again. "I have to. Even if he was a jerk, I'd be the bigger jerk by not forgiving him."  
  
Benita shook her head; she didn't have the heart to tell her that it hadn't sounded as if Terry was looking to apologize. "Well, if ya have to, then ya have to. Do ya want me to come along when you do go?"  
  
"Maybe. I'd better get back to Vincent. I'll return to the shop as soon as possible, Beni."  
  
Benita smiled. "Take yer time, Lir. I can take care a things here."  
  
"Thanks. Thanks a lot, Benita."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Go on now. We'll see ya when ya get back."  
  
"Okay. Thanks, Beni."  
  
"Stop it now, tha's enough. Ya don't have to be *that* grateful."  
  
Elira gave a giggle and Benita wondered if the young woman was as close to tears as she sounded. She hung up the receiver and ran a hand through her hair. This poor girl never seemed to get a break.  
  
Another loud burst of laughter emerged from the forge. With a determined air, Benita stood from the stool. At least Elira wouldn't have to worry about her shop while she was gone. Benita would make sure of that.  
  
***  
  
Vincent opened his eyes. The room was dark with night, but to his red eyes it might as well have been daylight. Momentarily disoriented, he sat up and felt a stiffness in his left shoulder. Remembering the knife wound, he sent exploring fingers and discovered a gauze bandage under the sleeve. Frowning a little, he ran his hand over the arm of his shirt and then sniffed it. There was no feel, no smell of blood. Had Elira tended to him? His coat and bandana were missing, as well as his boots, and he was on his mattress under a blanket. Had she carried him to his bed again, too? He abruptly recalled having found a soup bowl by his bed, days ago, when he'd gotten around to cleaning his apartment. A quick glance at the floor showed him another bowl. Had she fed him, this time and last?  
  
She'd still come to find him and take care of him, even after she'd seen the transformation. Even Avalanche had kept their distance once they'd realized his terrible secret. But Elira had followed him, and he felt relief and fear in the same moment. He hadn't frightened her away. But, if Chaos couldn't, what would? Would she never leave him alone? He sighed, confused by his mixed feelings. Lucrecia had rejected him once for something she'd never explained, though it most certainly had been a lesser reason than this. She'd died in childbirth before he'd had a chance to ask.  
  
There was a small sigh from an unnoticed lump beside him, under the blanket. Already guessing the identity of the lump, he gently pulled the covers back. Elira lay sleeping on her side, curled up with one hand tucked carefully under her cheek. He realized again, as if for the first time, how beautiful she was.  
  
A memory surfaced and, without really thinking, Vincent let it run its course.  
  
A pen dangling from two fingers, a notepad flopped over onto her stomach, he'd found Lucrecia sleeping in the chair of the library. Her glasses had slipped down her nose, her head had been bowed by conquering exhaustion, and tendrils from a disordered ponytail had fallen around her face. She'd been so lovely. He'd been so tempted to touch her skin, her hair, as if to test her reality.  
  
She'd been so accepting, so understanding. So filled with trusting interest. She'd wanted to learn more about him. His reputation as a Turk hadn't made her prejudge him. She hadn't been afraid. And they'd ended up being so alike, he'd been caught off guard. And then, despite his best efforts, he'd found himself in love. In love with everything about her...  
  
So vulnerable...  
  
Elira's scent seemed to be everywhere around him and Vincent had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her like a starved man. He wanted to feel her tugging frantically at his clothing again, wanted to feel her skin warm and moist against his own. But that wasn't an option anymore. He'd stolen that night with her and he had to accept that there would never be another.  
  
The only option was to leave the sector as she'd said. Maybe he'd have to leave Neo-Midgar altogether. She would never leave him alone, and he wouldn't be able to hold out against her forever. And then she would die...probably at his own hands...  
  
He stared at her face in the darkness. She was so young, hardly more than a child. She had so much life ahead of her. He wanted to kiss her again, if only in good-bye. Grimacing, he forced himself to turn away.  
  
Moving slowly so as not to wake her, Vincent stood from the bed. His eyes lingered on the sky outside. No moon or stars were visible. His departure would be completely unnoticed. By the time she awoke he would be far away, and no one would be able to tell her where he had gone. He was sure she would know why he'd left. She wouldn't be able to blame herself. She would understand his reasons, probably better than anyone.  
  
He went to take a step away from the bed, but there was some resistance at his left arm. He glanced back and saw two eyes staring at him questioningly, two sets of fingers wrapping themselves resolutely around his metal wrist. "Where are you going?" Her voice was quiet and raspy.  
  
Vincent couldn't answer her. He had no answer to that question, even for himself.  
  
She released his arm as he pulled away. Then she sat up, her clothing shifting against the covers noisily in the silence. "Are you trying to leave?"  
  
He wouldn't be swayed. She was awake, but it didn't matter. He still had to go.  
  
He stepped into his boots and slipped into his coat. Elira was following him when he left the bedroom. But it didn't matter. He had hidden himself for ten years from fate's probing gaze. He could hide himself again.  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
He wouldn't turn to look at her, he told himself. He would just open the door to his apartment and leave. And it wouldn't matter if she followed. He could easily lose her. And that would be the end of that.  
  
He would bid farewell to his dwindling humanity...  
  
As he reached out for the doorknob Elira stepped in the way. He wasn't surprised. He'd actually been expecting resistance sooner. There was anger in her eyes, and pain. Underneath that, however, he thought he could see a small ember of hope begging not to be put out.  
  
He broke eye contact with her.  
  
"Vincent, is that 'change' the thing you were talking about? Is that why you'll be my death?"  
  
He refused to meet her eyes. It wouldn't be so hard to catch her off guard and let the shadows of the building devour him.  
  
"Answer me. Look at me!" She was angry, and her tone was becoming desperate. But it didn't matter. Compared with the risk of her life, her feelings were trivial. "What is that creature? It's still you, isn't it?"  
  
He shook his head a little. "No. It's not me. I can't control it. It's a demon called Chaos, and for good reason." He gestured at the living room they'd left behind. "I didn't intentionally ruin my apartment."  
  
"But where did it come from?"  
  
"I don't feel like explaining right now."  
  
Elira stared at him hard for a moment. "So you're just going to leave."  
  
He shrugged slightly. "Unless you can promise that you'll leave me alone from now on."  
  
She dropped her eyes. And though she didn't say anything, Vincent knew her answer. He moved to push her aside and reach for the door.  
  
But she refused to budge and he saw her chin come up, a gesture he was beginning to recognize. "You're not going to leave this way."  
  
Vincent sighed wearily. He was getting tired of this. "Elira, don't you see yet? It's not safe for you if I stay."  
  
"Why don't you let me decide what's dangerous for me?" she demanded. "I'm willing to take the risk, remember?"  
  
"But I'm not."  
  
Elira took a step toward him. Instinctively, he took a step back. "So you're just going to give in to this? You're just going to give up?"  
  
He shrugged again. "Do I have another choice?"  
  
"Fight it!" There was a fire in her eyes. "There must be some way!"  
  
But Vincent shook his head. "I've looked. I've looked through everything I could find. There's nothing I can do, except try to live my life with the least pain possible, for me and for others."  
  
Elira frowned suddenly and took another step. Vincent took a second one away from her. "I want to help you. I'm willing to help you. Are you just going to throw that away?"  
  
He sighed. "You don't understand..."  
  
"Oh yes I do, you coward!"  
  
Something in him became offended. "Coward?"  
  
"You've got a chance, here. I'm offering it to you. Sure there are risks, but wouldn't it be worth it? To be rid of this thing?"  
  
The sudden spark of hope her words kindled made him angry after a moment. "Elira, stop this. I've tried. If there was a way, I would have found it by now."  
  
"I don't think so. I think you gave up."  
  
His anger grew and he reflexively began to guard himself against another possible transformation. "You have no idea, Elira. You don't know what I've suffered..."  
  
"And that doesn't make you want to fight? You're not a broken man, are you?"  
  
Broken? He shuddered a little as everything drained out of him. "I am a broken man," he told her softly. He could still recall the exact moment Hojo had finally snatched away the last shreds of his will to fight, and even revenge hadn't given him that back. When he next glanced at Elira, it was to see her with one hand over her mouth as if she was suddenly regretting her words. "I'm not even a man anymore, really..."  
  
"Yes, you are," Elira asserted abruptly. And then, just as quickly, she was stepping up and moving to embrace him. He tried to turn away, to brush her off, but the first touch of her hands wore at his resolve until he could feel himself trembling. She wormed her way into his arms and he was helpless to keep from holding her back. "Elira..." he murmured. "Please...don't do this..."  
  
"You're a man, Vincent." She spoke into his shoulder. "And all men, all humans, need other people. You have to fight this. Don't give in to fate. At least try to fight it."  
  
"Elira, I can't. It's not worth it..."  
  
He felt her body stiffen suddenly in his arms, and she looked slowly into his face. "What did you say?"  
  
What had he admitted? Just what he believed. "It's not worth it. I'm not worth the risk."  
  
He saw it this time before it happened. And, already in her arms, he couldn't help himself. She kissed him desperately as if trying to convince him of something simply through her passion. The urge to push her up against the wall flashed through Vincent's mind. Started, he pulled his mouth from hers. "Please," he whispered. "Stop this."  
  
"You're worth it, Vincent," she told him. He met her eyes and was moved by the sincerity he saw there. She was searching his face for something, he realized, but after a moment of being unable to find it her expression became ruefully resigned. She stepped out of his arms and gave him a small, sad smile. "Someday...someday you'll look back on this and realize I was right." And then, without another word, she turned from him and left his apartment.  
  
As if it hadn't been there the whole time, Vincent could suddenly feel the night air coming in through the broken patio door. The shadows were calling to him, darkness to darkness. But...she thought he was worth it, even when she knew about Chaos. Had anyone ever found him worthwhile before? Besides as a killer, a fighter?  
  
But she was just a child. She didn't know what she was saying. She hardly knew him. How could he take her words at face value?  
  
And yet...  
  
He walked slowly to his bedroom. The mattress sank a little under his weight. He raised his gloved hand to push his fingers under the bandana, something he did when he was upset, but discovered again that his bandana was missing. And so he just ran his fingers through his hair.  
  
There was a decision to make here. And, despite the dictates of logic, he was of two minds. Was it worth it to start to hope again? Could there be a way to beat fate? He'd learned to accept his lot in ten years, even if he wasn't happy with it. He'd accepted the loneliness, the punishment of both Chaos and his own guilt. He had given up after looking through the records in the basement of Shinra Mansion. He'd walked away because what was the point? He really had nothing to live for. What was the point of fixing his life?  
  
He'd tried to kill himself once. A bullet in his head. Two days later he'd made his way here.  
  
If he had someone else to believe in him, though...could he do it? Would it teach him to believe, too?  
  
Because, even if it was his punishment, Vincent admitted to himself that he didn't want to be alone forever. 


	12. AboutFace

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Eleven: About-Face  
  
by thelittletree  
  
If there really was a fate, Elira imagined that it was probably laughing at her.  
  
She stepped carefully out of the shower and grabbed for a towel. The warm water had soothed her a little, but it hadn't removed the empty feeling that had been sitting in the pit of her gut for hours. She was alone again, and it was a gnawing desolation, bringing her back to the days after Eagan had died. Hollow and numb, she was going through the motions. She felt like a breath of wind would probably blow her over. And she was now so fragile she would probably shatter.  
  
As she dried her hair thoroughly with the towel, she cringed, probably for the hundredth time, at the lingering thought of the argument they'd had during the night. She'd called him a coward and a broken man when he was neither. She'd wanted him to rise to the bait, to prove her wrong, to change his mind. But it hadn't worked. Looking into his face after that kiss, she'd seen no sign that he was anything but resolved to leave. She guessed it didn't matter if she thought he was worth trying to save. If he didn't want to save himself, nothing could convince him to take the risks involved.  
  
She'd stayed in the lobby of his apartment building until sunrise, fearful of walking alone late at night, even in the quiet sector of MiraCletus. She'd tried to tell herself that she wasn't waiting for him to follow her. He hadn't come in any case. She'd wondered if the apartment building had a back door. It would've been very like him to have taken the other way out...  
  
At six, the train to Virna had been nearly empty. She'd chosen a car that had no one in it. And, thankful for the privacy, she'd let the gentle rocking of the train coax her into crying.  
  
But now all tears and tearstains were washed away. It was the first day of the rest of her life. She wiped a portion of the steamed-up mirror clean and studied the face that stared back at her, framed by a furious mass of dark frizzy curls. It was the face of woman who knew of pain and loss, a woman who would try to pick up her life and her job from where she'd left off, from a time before she'd realized how incredibly lonely she really was.  
  
She wondered where Vincent's fear had driven him to hide. She wondered if she would ever see him again. She wondered if he would ever realize that she had been right...  
  
It was eight-thirty when she descended into her shop and started up the furnace, preparing everything for the business day. Before leaving the forge, as she swept the area with a glance to make sure everything was in order, her eyes fell on what had been Vincent's workstation. The metal pieces for a long-barreled rifle lay at the edge of the table in neat array where he'd left them before they'd caught the train to Odriam. She moved to the table with soft steps as if afraid of disturbing something.  
  
She remembered approving this client's order for a custom-made rifle assembled specifically by Vincent. Now, though, the order wouldn't be finished the way it had been requested. She would have to complete the project in the way she believed Vincent would have. With a twinge of regret, she wondered whether his sudden departure would ruin the new-found reputation of her small shop.  
  
The metal of the forsaken barrel was cold against her fingers. She pursed her lips, imagining how beautiful the finished product would've been.  
  
Elira sat at her desk in the front room; she didn't even see that she'd been staring out of the window until the pen in her hand slipped from her fingers and clattered suddenly to the table top. Flustered, she straightened the papers in front of her, banging them into order. She was angry at herself when she realized she'd been thinking of Vincent, remembering when they'd been lying in bed together the morning after and he'd joked about forgetting to take off his watch. She'd felt so close to him in those few moments, she'd almost believed it was going to be that way forever...that she would wake up every morning next to him and he would give her *that* smile...  
  
The bell over the door chimed. Startled, Elira looked at the clock as the first of her employees filtered through the door. It was almost nine.  
  
It wasn't long before Benita was entering the front room, a smile on her face as she shook off the chill of the morning and wandered up to the desk. Elira tried to return the smile, but there was nothing in her to smile with. Still, it must've been convincing. Benita didn't notice anything amiss.  
  
"Hey there, Lir! How're ya doin'? Everythin' was fine yesterday. Got a nice number a shotguns finished."  
  
Elira nodded. "Good, good. I'm glad to hear it."  
  
Benita's grin wavered a little. "Wha's wrong?" she asked suddenly. "Are you still worried about visitin' Terry? I promised I'd go with ya if ya want."  
  
Elira tried to smile again. "Yeah. Thanks, Beni. I'd like that."  
  
Benita frowned and licked her lips. "That's not it, is it?" Without waiting for an answer, she sighed and leaned up against the desk, brushing strands of windblown hair out of her eyes. "Is it Vincent? How's he doin'? I hope he's not still sick. It ain't anythin' serious, is it?"  
  
Elira shook her head. "No, it's... Benita, I..." She lowered her eyes and sighed. She might as well explain. They were going to find out eventually when he didn't show up for work. "Last night, Vincent..."  
  
The bell over the door chimed one more time. Surprised, Elira glanced up. She'd thought everyone was accounted for. Then her mouth fell open and she blinked a few times as if to make sure she could trust her eyes.  
  
Vincent walked through the front room as if there was nothing unusual about his being there. He gave a nod as he passed the desk and entered the forge.  
  
Benita glanced back at Elira and clucked in concern. "You okay? You look like you jus' saw a ghost."  
  
It was a few moments before Elira could form any words. "He...he was going to...he said..." She shook her head. "Nevermind." She chuckled thickly, not sure if she was about to start laughing or crying. "Nevermind, Beni. I think everything's okay."  
  
Benita raised an eyebrow and stood from the desk. "If you say so." However, she spent another moment looking worriedly at Elira before disappearing into the forge.  
  
It took almost more strength than Elira had to prevent herself from running into the forge and dragging Vincent with her to a place where they could talk. But it was business hours right now and she'd messed around with her hours enough for the time being. Despite the way her stomach was flip-flopping, it would have to wait until the lunch break.  
  
The day was actually moderately busy, enough to keep Elira stationed at her desk. The hunting season rush was starting in trickles: the customers would dribble like this through the door for another week or two before the real flow began. It wouldn't be long before the animals commonly known as Kalm-fangs, wolf-like creatures with fur so purple it looked almost black, would be coming down to Neo-Midgar as the weather cooled, into what had once been chocobo territory. Kalm-fangs were not dangerous animals when left to themselves, but because of the price one purple pelt could fetch in Neo-Midgar they were hunted enthusiastically. So, weapon shops in every sector had their work cut out for them. Elira had decided long before to put Vincent solely on customer orders while she and the others concentrated on forging as many of the hunting models as possible. That way, they wouldn't fall behind as customers began to make less orders as they started looking for a shotgun or rifle they could buy that day.  
  
The hands of the clock raced forward.  
  
Looking up to check the time as the last customer of the latest rush exited, Elira realized that it was almost twelve. Practically running, she made her way to the door and changed the sign from *open* to *closed* before anyone else could enter. And then she hurried into the forge.  
  
"Lunch time, guys!" she informed her employees over the noise of the running lathe. The lathe was switched off and everyone began to stir from their work. Everyone except Vincent who remained at his station, carefully engraving designs into the long butt of a rifle as if he hadn't heard her.  
  
Once the others were gone, Elira moved to stand at the table across from Vincent and tried to keep her bursting curiousity from showing on her face. He didn't look up. Undaunted, she pulled up a stool and sat. Vincent continued engraving meticulously though Elira knew the chore didn't need his full attention. She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in the palms of her hands, staring at him. "You're here, Vincent," she observed quietly.  
  
"Yes, I'm here," Vincent answered her without breaking the design.  
  
She pursed her lips. "I thought you were leaving."  
  
"So did I."  
  
Elira stared at him. He didn't seem very happy. "Well, what happened? Why didn't you go?"  
  
Vincent stopped engraving for an instant to allow a shrug, though he kept his eyes on his work. "If you're willing to take the risk, I should be willing, too."  
  
Elira looked to the intricate design he was etching, noticing as she had many times before how lithe and steady his hands were; even the prosthetic fingers moved with a certain rhythm. Elira questioned idly in her mind how long he'd had the metal arm. To have mastered it like this, it had to have been awhile. "Well, don't go to any trouble on my account," she told him, trying to sound light-hearted.  
  
He glanced up at that. "It was my decision. I could leave Neo-Midgar, but..." He dropped his eyes. "You're not the only one who doesn't want to be alone anymore."  
  
Elira thought she felt her heart skip. In one quick motion, she stood and slipped around the table. As she neared Vincent, however, he also got to his feet and moved hastily away. Elira stopped walking in confusion. "What is it? What's wrong?"  
  
"Not that." He had his back to her, letting his words drift to her from over a shoulder. "No further than friendship."  
  
Elira tried not to feel offended. "Vincent, I wasn't going to..."  
  
"I know," he interrupted her, and his words were softer now. "But your proximity, whether you intend it or not, makes me..." He hesitated and moved to glance at her. "Uncomfortable."  
  
Uncomfortable? Elira swallowed back her frown. "Okay. Well, friendship's fine with me. That's all I wanted before. Remember?"  
  
Vincent stood motionless for another moment before nodding and turning to sit again at the table. Elira noted how expressionless his features were and wondered what was going on in his mind. Was he angry at her for interfering? Was he angry at himself for returning? Something about this seemed to be upsetting him, and she already knew he wouldn't tell her what it was if she asked. With a sigh, she headed up to her apartment for some lunch.  
  
At the end of the day, Elira locked all of the money up in the safe behind her desk, ready to leave the shop closed for the weekend. She wasn't surprised when Vincent ended up being the last one to leave. Standing beside her desk as she closed the safe, he spoke.  
  
"Tomorrow afternoon, would you like to come to the park in MiraCletus?"  
  
Elira glanced up, a little puzzled by his choice of location considering how ardent he was about keeping their association friendship only. But Vincent looked completely serious. With a shrug, she said, "Sure, why not? How about around one o'clock?"  
  
Vincent nodded once. "I'll be here at one." And then he departed.  
  
Elira stood from the safe and brushed off the knees of her pants. And then she sighed, wondering why she was feeling frustrated. What had she wanted? Another chance for a romantic relationship with him?  
  
Yes. The answer was immediate. She locked the front door and, after turning off the light in the front room, wandered into the forge. All right, so she wanted him. So she wanted to wake up beside him every morning. Maybe Vincent wanted that, too, somewhere inside. But he wasn't going to let it happen. She ran a hand through her curls and flicked off the light in the forge.  
  
It was supper time, and then time for bed. It had been a full day. She would need a good night's sleep.  
  
Especially since she would be visiting Terry tomorrow. 


	13. Old Friends, New Friends

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twelve: Old Friends, New Friends  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Elira glanced at Trodder as he parked the car outside of the hospital. He looked a lot like his brother, she mused, though with darker hair and a rounder face, and he wore beard. But there was something about him that seemed older; was it the responsibility that came with being a father? Trodder flashed her a smile when he noticed her glance and opened the door to get out. Elira opened her own door and stepped onto the sidewalk. Benita came up beside her after a moment, putting her hands on her hips as she let wary eyes examine the building.  
  
"Are ya sure ya wanna do this, Lir?"  
  
Elira nodded without hesitation. It wasn't so much that she wanted to do it as she felt obligated to. Terry had always been there for her. She owed him this visit at least, when he was probably feeling at his worst. She owed him something for all of the effort he'd put into trying to get to know her. And, who knew, maybe they'd be able to start their friendship afresh.  
  
The hospital was cold and sterile, smelling of antiseptic and floor polisher, just like Elira knew it would be. She remembered it all unconsciously from the times she'd visited her mother as a girl. The sights and smells had only added to her fright as she'd watched, numb and confused in a chair, while her father had held her mother's limp hand by the bed and wept like a child.  
  
The day her mother had died, the scent of antiseptic had been so strong it had made Elira vomit.  
  
As they arrived at the room Elira smoothed down her shirt, maybe a little out of nervous habit. It had been weeks since she'd seen Terry, and to say that they hadn't parted on very good terms was an understatement. From beside her, Benita noticed her unease and slipped a reassuring arm around her waist. Grateful for the comfort, Elira tried to smile at her friend before following Trodder into the room.  
  
Terry lay propped up on an adjustable hospital bed, surrounded by a desert of white. Elira was unable to look at him for a few seconds, almost afraid of what she would see. Benita had said he'd lost an eye. Finally, she mustered the courage to look at her old friend.  
  
Terry's face had been distorted by weaving lines of dark scarlet stitching. One line ran down from his left temple to his jaw, and another ran from his forehead into a white bandage over the eye, emerging again to scar a crooked nose. Patches of his hair had been shaved off to allow stitching to continue into his hairline. There was also a streak of crimson that started from the right side of his neck and traveled down under the collar of his hospital gown. Elira tried her best not to gape. At first, she was inclined to believe that they had walked into the wrong room, but then she began to recognize Terry beneath the injuries. It was his hair, his eye-colour, the shape of his face. There was no mistaking him.  
  
She swallowed, feeling her stomach turning sour.  
  
"Hey, Terry," Trodder began, walking around the bed to put a hand on Terry's shoulder. "How are you, today?"  
  
Elira noticed that Terry's one-eyed gaze had not left her face since she'd entered. It disturbed her a little to see the intensity there though she could read nothing from his expression.  
  
"I'm fine, Trod. Thanks for bringing Elira. Would it be possible for me to talk to her alone for a few minutes?"  
  
Elira was surprised by the urge she had to protest.  
  
"Sure." Trodder left Terry's side and walked up to Benita. "Come on, Beni."  
  
Benita didn't look at him, standing stoically beside Elira like a faithful bodyguard.  
  
Trodder's expression softened a little and he glanced at Elira. "Would you?"  
  
Elira almost wanted to argue for Benita to remain, but then decided against it. She'd come to visit Terry and perhaps patch things up, not to fight with him. "I'll be all right, Beni."  
  
Benita looked at Elira for a moment as if gauging how serious she was before accompanying Trodder out the door. Elira felt, strangely enough, as if she were being left alone with a hungry lion.  
  
She tried not to fidget under Terry's scrutiny, which she could feel like a hot pulse on her face as she stared at her hands. Finally, as if suddenly noticing her discomfort, Terry began to speak.  
  
"Well, Elira, these weren't the exact circumstances I had pictured us next meeting in."  
  
Elira couldn't help a soft chuckle. "Ditto."  
  
"But, still, I'm glad it was me instead of you so that I could at least warn you."  
  
Elira frowned and looked up. "What are you talking about?"  
  
Terry glanced around with his one eye as if he thought someone might be lurking in a corner. And then he beckoned to Elira. Hesitantly, she approached and sat on the bed beside him as he directed. Then he placed his fingers on her hand as if to comfort her, but the touch only served to increase her unease. She had to fight the urge to pull away.  
  
"Elira, you may not believe what I'm about to say, but I want you to try, okay? I'm telling you for your own safety."  
  
Elira tried to keep her eyes on his face, but after a few moments she dropped her gaze to the sheet. The scarring was horrible. Just imagining the original wounds made her cringe. "Okay."  
  
"You heard that I was attacked by an animal, right?"  
  
Elira nodded, still looking at the bed.  
  
"That's what everyone assumed. These injuries couldn't have been made by anything other than the claws of a bloodthirsty beast, right?"  
  
Elira nodded again, wondering what Terry was getting at.  
  
"Well, it wasn't a wild animal that did this to me."  
  
Elira met his gaze, puzzled. "What do you mean? Did someone attack you with a knife?"  
  
"No, not with a knife. With claws, Elira. It was some kind of demon-creature, with wings."  
  
Elira stopped breathing, suddenly afraid to move in case it would give something away.  
  
Terry seemed to take her abrupt stillness as an expression of horror. "Yes, a demon, Elira. You have to believe me. But, there's also more."  
  
"More?" Elira was dismayed at the quiet gasp her voice had become. She swallowed noisily. 'No more...don't let this be what I think it is...'  
  
"Yes. It wasn't a demon at first. It was human."  
  
Elira shut her eyes, as if that would block out the truth she knew was coming.  
  
"It was Vincent, Elira. Vincent attacked me. I know it's hard for you to believe, but I'd always figured there was something...wrong about him. I just never thought it would be something this...horrific. He could come after you next. I want you to get rid of him, fire him, stay away from him. He's dangerous."  
  
Dangerous. Elira recalled the word, used so many times by Vincent to describe himself. The beast that he transformed into had totaled his apartment, had chased after that teenager with a cold, merciless bloodlust. And had attacked Terry. She wondered if the conclusion to Terry's injuries had been what she'd found on the floor of Vincent's bedroom almost two weeks ago.  
  
Elira continued inspecting her hands, unsure of what to say. She hadn't been expecting this news. She'd thought Terry wanted to apologize. But, no. Maybe Terry figured that if Vincent was pushed out of the picture he could start up with her where they'd left off. Or take Vincent's place.  
  
"You don't believe me, do you?"  
  
She glanced up into his face and made herself meet the gaze of his one eye. "No, I do believe you, Terry." She bowed her head, resuming her study of her hands. "I just thought you wanted to talk about our fight and, you know, patch things up. We've been friends for so long..."  
  
Terry gave a sudden incredulous scoff. "What? I can't believe this! I'm telling you that one of your employees is a raging monster and you're worried about a little argument we had? That's old news, Elira!"  
  
Elira glanced up sharply. "So is the news about Vincent! I already know about...what he is."  
  
Terry's expression became one of confused shock. "You already know? How?"  
  
"It happened a couple of days ago. Someone attacked us and he transformed."  
  
Terry stared at her as if he wasn't sure whether to believe her. "And he didn't hurt you?"  
  
"Obviously not."  
  
"Well, where is he now?"  
  
She shrugged. "I don't know. His apartment probably."  
  
"Have you fired him? Have you told the police or anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not? He's dangerous!" His gaze narrowed suddenly. "Are you in love with him, Elira?"  
  
Elira felt the heat of old arguments spark in her blood. "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
Terry's expression hardened with cold rage. "Have you slept with him?"  
  
Elira shot up from the bed. "That's none of your business!"  
  
"You have!" he accused her, his face contorting with spiteful jealousy. "You stupid slut! Don't you realize that he could kill you?"  
  
That was the last of it. It was all she could take. Shaking with bottled fury, she turned on her heel and started for the door.  
  
"Dammit! Elira, wait!"  
  
"No, Terry." She didn't look back, but she stopped at the door for a moment. "I'm sorry this happened to you but I've got to go. I've got to talk to Vincent." And then she fled.  
  
On the verge of tears, Elira ran down the hall. The scent of antiseptic was so strong it was choking her. She couldn't breathe. She managed to get to the ladies' room and push her way into one of the stalls before vomiting up the painful knot of tears and anguish that was churning in her stomach. And then she sat wearily beside the toilet, sobbing, until Benita found her nearly twenty minutes later.  
  
***  
  
Vincent arrived at the door to the shop at one o'clock, as agreed. Elira was silent as she accompanied him to the train station. As they rode together in the stifling stillness of the car, Vincent seemed to realize that there was something on her mind but he didn't pry. He did, however, cast a glance in her direction every once in a while. Elira pretended not to notice. She would wait until they were completely alone before saying anything.  
  
The park was deserted. Despite her mood, Elira couldn't help but be in some awe of the place she had only ever seen in the dark of night. In the daylight it looked like a completely different park. No longer even the slightest bit menacing, it was simply unkempt and full of life. Birds fluttered into the trees at their arrival and squirrels scattered into hiding. The long grass bent beneath their steps and brown-barked boughs beckoned to them, inviting them.  
  
Elira walked to the stump where she'd been working on her aim, looking at it under the eye of the sun. Broken shards of glass glinted vividly as she moved. When she looked up again she saw that Vincent was pushing his way through some underbrush to the right of the gate. Elira went over and followed him, urging scratchy branches away from her clothing. Eventually, she came out on the other side into another part of the park.  
  
This had obviously once been a park for children. A corroding jungle gym sat in the middle of the area and beyond it lay an ivy-drenched slide. Closest was a rusted swing set. Elira sat down on one of the worn leather straps and, holding on to the russet chains, pushed herself with the toes of her sneakers. She stopped, though, at the horrible squealing of unoiled metal. Then she glanced around, hunting for Vincent.  
  
He was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, she swept the park with her eyes. Where would he have gone? The sound of a creaking branch drew her gaze upward and she spotted Vincent seated nimbly on the lowest limb of an ancient tree growing nearby. The picture made her smile, but the smile faded after a moment when she remembered what she'd wanted to talk to him about. She cleared her throat. "I went to see Terry in the hospital today."  
  
Vincent gave no reaction. Elira licked her lips, not sure how to continue without accusing him outright. "He's doing fine. He's always been one to heal quickly. A little surgery could probably remove the scars and his eye, I think, could be..."  
  
"It was me."  
  
Elira looked up at Vincent suddenly, caught off guard by his interruption. His red eyes stared down at her intently. "I attacked him as Chaos."  
  
Elira looked back at her lap, relieved that he hadn't made her spell it out, and shaken by his confession though she'd known already. After a moment, she found her voice. "Why did you do it?"  
  
Vincent hesitated so long that she eventually glanced up. But he wasn't looking at her. He was staring over her head with expression that was carefully blank. When he did eventually speak, his voice was calm and almost toneless as if he didn't want to mar the story with any undue emotion. "Terry was waiting for me at the train station. He wanted to fight, but he was obviously drunk. I ignored him. As I was getting ready to leave, however, he took a key out of his pocket and told me he was going to your apartment to..." He paused as if searching for the words. "...make love to you, whether you wanted him to or not."  
  
Elira felt suddenly sick to her stomach. "He...he was going to rape me?"  
  
Vincent met her eyes and there was a remembered rage there. "When I tried to stop him, Chaos took the opportunity to emerge."  
  
Elira was unable to speak for almost a full minute. Terry wouldn't really have raped her, would he? She didn't know, but the very idea horrified her. Was that all it boiled down to after years of friendship? He didn't want her love, he just wanted control. When Elira finally regained her voice, it was shaky. "Then you went back to your apartment and took those sleeping pills?"  
  
"It's the only way I've found to control it...Chaos."  
  
"So it really is something completely separate from you."  
  
Vincent nodded and looked away from her to stare at the ground.  
  
Elira nibbled her bottom lip, thinking. "I remember that day with the teenager. I called your name and you...seemed to hear me."  
  
Vincent sighed after a moment. "Well, I suppose I do have some control over it, enough to influence it at times. I am, however, a little out of practice." He gave a small, apologetic smile. "My apartment is evidence of that. Chaos fought me for every step I took toward taking those pills."  
  
Elira licked her lips, feeling suddenly guilty. "Vincent, I'm sorry for what I said last night. You're not a coward, or a broken man. It has to take a lot of strength to fight against that demon, and a lot of courage just to keep living. If I was in your place, I think I would have tried to hide away long before now."  
  
He shrugged a little. "Maybe this will be for the best."  
  
"Maybe." She smiled at him and made herself comfortable on the swing-seat. "So, what happens? You get angry and...poof?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow and Elira thought she saw his lips twitch suddenly as if to hold back a laugh. "Poof?" he repeated. "That's an interesting choice of words."  
  
Elira couldn't help her chuckle. "I'm sorry. Not poof, then."  
  
There was the hint of a smile on his face, but it faded after a moment. "It isn't just anger, it's too much of any negative emotion, or pain. Chaos can use these moments when my control is weak to...emerge."  
  
"God." Elira stared down at her hands. "I can't imagine having to keep from getting angry all the time." It was one of her failings, her volatile temper. She'd gotten it from her father, and the two of them had had some of the most spectacular fights when she'd lived at home. She looked up at Vincent. He seemed to be staring thoughtfully into the distance. She cleared her throat. "So, where did this thing...Chaos, come from?"  
  
Vincent glanced at her slowly as if he was hesitant to answer. "It's a nightmarish story," he warned her.  
  
Elira shrugged. "If I'm going to help you, I want to know everything I can."  
  
He seemed to consider her a moment before vaulting himself off of the branch and landing in a crouched position at the base of the tree. Elira watched him with wide eyes, and then couldn't help staring as he approached her. He'd been nearly ten feet from the ground!  
  
He was smiling a little as he lowered himself onto the swing beside her. "Flying can teach you a few things about landing."  
  
Elira forced herself to close her mouth.  
  
Vincent slipped his hand up to rub at his forehead under the bandana. "The woman I loved was a scientist, as was her husband. Both of them were very interested in things like the Cetra and the afterlife, specifically the Promised Land."  
  
  
  
At the mention of the Cetra, Elira was made to recall her history lessons in highschool. The Cetra were an ancient people who had nearly died out trying to seal away an evil in the planet more than two thousand years ago. But, despite their best efforts, Jenova had been discovered and had threatened the entire planet through General Sephiroth. If it hadn't been for Avalanche, more than Midgar would have been destroyed. The history had been so recently included in the teaching scheme that there were no books to read it from. Not much was ever said about Avalanche. It was rumoured that the members had asked to remain anonymous so that they could live out the rest of their lives in relative peace.  
  
A sigh from Vincent brought Elira back out of her thoughts. "Her husband, however, had other projects his wife didn't know about. Projects that involved tampering with lives...for science and discovery."  
  
Elira felt a tremor go through. "You mean...he did this to you?" she asked quietly.  
  
Vincent didn't look up. "They were both working on an experiment at one point, one that was risking the woman's life. She..." He paused a moment and took a breath. "She didn't want to listen to me, so I went to confront her husband. I didn't count on how adamant he would be that there be no complications. He shot me."  
  
Elira blinked in surprise. "He shot you? Where?"  
  
"Through the heart," Vincent answered her matter-of-factly. "But I didn't die. When I woke up, he had somehow summoned some demons and put them into my body. They healed me of my injuries. Even now, I heal very quickly. That knife wound in my arm is already gone without a scar." He then held up his prosthetic arm without looking at her. "He gave me this later. I thought he was making me into a weapon, but he tired of me eventually and moved on to other things."  
  
It took Elira a moment to realize that she was trembling. "Oh my god! So Chaos isn't the only one?"  
  
Vincent shrugged a little, barely twitching his shoulders. "The others are gone now. I'm not sure why. But Chaos has stayed. Perhaps it absorbed the others."  
  
Elira felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes. "Oh my god," she repeated. "That...that is nightmarish." Without really thinking about it, she raised a hand and lay it on his shoulder.  
  
Vincent flinched away from the contact. Elira drew her hand back as if he'd slapped it. He frowned and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry," he apologized softly.  
  
Elira shook her head and did her best to smile. "It's okay. I shouldn't have done that." She balled her hands together in her lap.  
  
An uncomfortable silence followed. Eventually, Vincent got to his feet. "Would you like to take a walk?"  
  
She'd been half expecting him to suggest that it was time for her to go. With a smile, she stood up beside him. "Sure. I've never seen much of MiraCletus."  
  
It was a fairly quiet sector, she noticed quickly. Unlike Virna, someone had gone to the trouble of interspersing the paved sidewalks and streets with patches of grass and rows of trees. She wondered why there weren't more people out walking. Feeling her mood lifting as she breathed in the fragrant spring air and soaked up her sun-bathed surroundings, she commented to Vincent, "I can see why you want to live here. It's beautiful."  
  
Vincent shrugged. "Frankly, it reminds me of a place I'd rather not remember."  
  
Elira raised her eyebrows. "Then why not move to a different sector?"  
  
"The rent here is lower than anywhere else in Neo-Midgar."  
  
Elira laughed a little. "You skinflint."  
  
Vincent didn't dignify that with a response.  
  
Elira noticed a flock of pigeons feeding on the pavement and had to repress the urge to scare them all into the air. "I wonder what it was like in Old Midgar," she said suddenly, "to live under those plates and never see the sun or feel the rain or the wind."  
  
"One became used to it after awhile. If you live without something for long enough, you eventually forget what it feels like."  
  
Elira glanced surreptitiously at her companion, wondering if there were things he had forgotten how to feel. "Did you live in Midgar?"  
  
"For a few years."  
  
Elira pursed her lips. "Can I ask you something?"  
  
Vincent glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You need permission for this particular question?"  
  
She grinned. "Maybe. How old are you?"  
  
Vincent was silent for a long time. Eventually, Elira felt the need to explain. "I just wanted to know because...well, I've been wondering if you were a part of Avalanche. That was ten years ago, though, and you don't look like you're even thirty. I thought asking your age would probably clear up the question without me having to ask it outright." She chuckled a little uncomfortably. "You don't have to answer, of course. I was just curious."  
  
And he didn't answer. Glancing up a few moments later, Elira realized that he'd been leading her straight to the train station. With a smile of graceful defeat, she said, "All right, you win. No more questions today. But don't think I won't try again."  
  
Vincent merely smiled, and it was the closest thing to a full smile she'd seen from him. Elira thought he'd never looked quite so attractive and a part of her ached a little. To get her mind onto something else she checked the timetable. "There's a train due for Odriam in a couple of minutes. We could go to the univerisity library and see what information we can find. If he was a scientist, he must have published some reports."  
  
"I doubt he would have published these reports."  
  
"But he might've published something helpful. It's worth a try, at least."  
  
Vincent thought about this for a moment before nodding. "All right."  
  
It didn't take them long to get there. A taxi from the station in Odriam took them to the university and, from there, a student directed them to the library. It was a large building, seven floors high, and decked out with the latest technology. Elira approached a likely-looking man behind a desk and said, "Excuse me, where are your scientific reports?"  
  
"Third floor," the man answered, barely glancing up from his computer, "on the shelves to your left."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
As they browsed through the compilations of data, Elira sidled up to Vincent. "It might help if I knew the name of this scientist," she told him.  
  
"Professor Hojo," Vincent replied, not looking up from a volume he had in his hands. "At one time, he worked for Shinra."  
  
Elira was suddenly taken back to the first night he'd taken the sleeping pills, when he'd had those episodes of sleep-waking delirium. "Hojo?" she asked. "And Lucrecia?"  
  
He glanced at her sharply. "Where did you hear that?"  
  
Elira chewed her lip for a moment. "From you actually, while you were under the drugs."  
  
He stared at her for another second before turning back to the book. "That was the name of the woman I loved. Lucrecia." There was something in the way he said it, a kind of reverence, and Elira felt an unexpected pang of jealousy. A little angry at herself for feeling that way, she moved back to her original spot and resolved not to ask about the woman again.  
  
They spent close to two hours looking through material, until Elira's arms ached from holding the heavy volumes while she stood, but there was nothing helpful. They'd found ten documents published by a Prof. H. M. Hojo, but they all concerned the properties of Jenova. Vincent looked like he'd expected as much. Elira felt frustrated.  
  
"Maybe we should come back another time," she said. "Or we should check out another library."  
  
Vincent didn't reply and Elira wondered at his thoughts. They hardly spoke on the train back to MiraCletus.  
  
When Elira arrived back at her apartment, she started wondering if she might've gotten herself in over her head. It was true that she wanted to help Vincent, and not only so he wouldn't disappear from Neo-Midgar forever. But what was there to do, really, if they couldn't find any information? It wasn't like they were researching an illness. This was something supernatural that, if she hadn't seen it for herself, she probably wouldn't have believed. Who would have written documents about it besides this Professor Hojo? 


	14. Revelations and Revenge

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Thirteen: Revelations and Revenge  
  
by thelittletree  
  
After the weekend, the trickle of hunting season customers quickly became a steady stream. And Elira knew through experience that it was only going to get busier. Especially since a streak of illness had run its course though the Kalm-fangs the previous year, drastically reducing the number covered by the percent available for hunting. Many hunters had come back empty handed, so she thought it likely that everyone would be eager to get out there, just in case the unexpected struck again.  
  
As the days flew by, the stock of shotguns and rifles they'd spent a month making began to rapidly disappear. Eventually, Elira was forced to take Vincent from forging orders and put him to the task of forging the standard hunting models. She even found herself staying after closing for a few hours to work on their stock herself. She hadn't expected it to be quite *this* busy.  
  
When she finally remembered the promise she'd made to Mr. Geddes, the museum curator, she thought she would have to cancel. By the end of the week they would be too busy to be able to spare both herself and Vincent, plus Benita who would have to come to the front. But in the end she decided just to bump the appointment to a sooner date, before they hit the peak of sales. Otherwise, it was likely that they wouldn't get back to Odriam for weeks.  
  
Mr. Geddes was more than willing to accommodate, and the next day Elira and Vincent found themselves on a train, seated together at Elira's insistence, heading out again to sector seven.  
  
The museum was busy with a tour when they arrived. A woman in a blue uniform was talking in crisp tones to a class of well-dressed students who she was showing around the galleries. A few of the students turned as Elira and Vincent arrived but, after a heartbeat, they returned their attention to their guide.  
  
It wasn't long before Mr. Geddes was descending the stairs to meet them. "So nice to see you again Miss Maddison, Mr. Valentine." He smiled genially. "I assume you'll want to get started as soon as possible so you can get back to your shop in good time. The museum is having a class tour today, but I have instructed Mrs. Linolet to stay away from the weapons displays to allow you to work."  
  
"Thank you," Elira replied, genuinely grateful. She didn't want this to take all day; the job of looking over each weapon and scribbling out a report was time consuming enough.  
  
"Well then," Mr. Geddes continued, clasping his hands together, "if you'll follow me."  
  
Elira couldn't help but be awed again by the impressive collection of ancient guns. To have all of these historical weapons in one place was almost more than she could handle. As she and Vincent moved from case to case, poring over the models, she found herself looking in almost constant anticipation for something she recognized from the gunsmith's book. Each weapon seemed more magnificently crafted for its time period than the last.  
  
As she finished the write-up on a particularly old gun they'd decided was better off not being restored, Elira glanced up. Vincent raised an eyebrow in a silent question and she nodded. Quickly, he moved on and she followed a step behind.  
  
The guns in the next case were unarguably ancient. As Elira stared at them her eyes were eventually drawn to the weapon in the middle. By far the most battle-scarred out of the group, it possessed a kind of mysterious beauty beneath the tarnish of years. What kind of gun was it? It didn't look like anything she'd seen before. She guessed that it was *very* old. A closer scrutiny showed her some scratchings on the butt that seemed too well-molded to be blemishes. She decided that they were letters of some kind, in some other language, and she looked to Vincent to ask what he thought about them.  
  
But Vincent seemed even more mesmerized by the gun than she. Frowning as if in deep concentration, he stared at the weapon with wide eyes and parted lips. And then a sudden shudder ran through him. Elira watched in concern as he stumbled back a step and doubled over with his hands to his ears.  
  
"Vincent?" She dropped to a knee and tried to look him in the face. His eyes were closed tightly and he'd clenched his teeth. "Vincent! Are you all right?"  
  
He didn't answer. Elira could almost believe that he was hearing something she couldn't. Not sure how to help him, she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little. "Vincent, what's wrong?"  
  
  
  
Suddenly, he opened his eyes and Elira noticed with a twinge of fear that his pupils were lost within the scarlet of his irises. A moment later, he jerked backward out of her grip and bumped soundly against a glass case. He whirled as if the case was an attacker, and then, upon seeing no one, he bolted out of the room before Elira could prepare a shout.  
  
It was a moment before she was able to react. And then, dropping the clipboard Mr. Geddes had given her for her reports, she raced after him. When she reached the stairway leading to the first floor, however, she slowed. He was nowhere in sight and she couldn't hear the sound of running footsteps. Fearing the worst, that somehow Chaos had forced itself into the open, she hopped rapidly down the stairs with more agility than she thought she possessed and stopped to glance around again. Where was he?  
  
"Excuse me! Miss!"  
  
Elira turned to find a young man, probably no more than a couple of years her younger, addressing her from among a small group of the students she and Vincent had passed earlier. "Are you looking for your friend? The one in black you came in with?"  
  
She hesitated for a moment before nodding dumbly.  
  
"He left the building in a hurry just a minute ago, out the front door."  
  
Elira ran out of the museum, calling out a belated "Thank you!" over her shoulder.  
  
She was surprised to find Vincent's door locked when she arrived at his apartment, though the eviction notice for 'excessive noise and willful destruction of property' taped to the wood didn't astonish her in the least. In confusion, frustration, and not a little panic, she tore the notice down and threw it at her feet.  
  
Where would he go? He'd always gone to his apartment before. What other places were deserted and safe from prying eyes?  
  
She was out of breath when she reached the park. Jogging in through the rusted gate, she saw immediately that Vincent was not around the old stump. Quickly, she pushed her way through the brush to her right, ignoring the thorns that scraped the backs of her hands and plucked at her clothing.  
  
The children's park was deserted, too. Her panicked pulse was just beginning to pound in her ears when Elira remembered the tree. She glanced up and was relieved beyond words when she found him there, seated on the lowest branch.  
  
He was motionless with his back pressed against the trunk, his knees drawn up and his head bowed. Elira marveled at his balance. At first she wasn't sure whether or not to disturb him, but it became a moot point as he began to speak. Without lifting his head, he asked, "Did I hurt you?"  
  
"No. You just ran."  
  
Vincent nodded an acknowledgment.  
  
"Did you transform?"  
  
He shook his head. "No, but I think Chaos saw something through my eyes that...frightened it. I could hear it screaming."  
  
Elira felt a pang of pity for him. "Was it those letters on the gun? Is that what it saw?"  
  
Vincent glanced up to meet her eyes, and she was surprised how composed he looked. "You noticed the Cetra runes, too. They might have had something to do with it."  
  
Elira raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You can read Cetra runes?"  
  
Vincent shook his head again, and then swiveled until he sat with his legs dangling from the branch. "I've seen the written language before, though, and the runes carved into the gun were familiar enough to make me suspicious."  
  
"But you don't know what the runes might mean?"  
  
"No. I don't know what they mean, and I don't know what they meant to Chaos." He lowered his eyes as he continued, "I also don't know if it's wise for me to return to the museum."  
  
"I think you might be right."  
  
The train station was nearly empty. As the cars headed for Virna pulled up, Vincent gestured to the entrance, motioning for Elira to precede him. But Elira shook her head.  
  
"I'm going to go back to the museum first to apologize to Mr. Geddes and arrange another time where we can look over his weapons."  
  
Vincent nodded after a moment and stepped onto the train without her. Elira watched him through the windows until the cars pulled away.  
  
Elira regretted her half-truth once the train was out of sight, though she questioned whether Vincent had guessed already the words she hadn't said. But, if she'd said outright that she was going back to the museum to get some information on those runes, he might have felt obliged to return with her. Shoving her pre-arranged ticket back to Virna into a pocket, she stepped up to the ticket booth and bought a ticket for the next train to Odriam. The train took less than five minutes to arrive and the trip was short and undisturbed. Still, Elira was glad to get off at the station in Odriam, out of the stuffy car and into the light and fresh air of the day. She was of a mind at first to hail a taxi, but after less than a moment's reflection she decided that she would walk instead.  
  
Mr. Jaron, the guard at the gate, let Elira in without the usual banter, though he did warn her in low tones that Mr. Geddes had been looking for her. She ignored him, as usual, and began to plan her apology.  
  
Mr. Geddes was not angry, though, when she found him. Rather, he was relieved to find her safe. "I was afraid something had happened," he chuckled as they stood by the entrance doors.  
  
Elira smiled at him. "No, Vincent just had to leave unexpectedly because of...illness. Nothing serious. I'm sorry that we weren't able to finish today like we'd wanted, but we'll return tomorrow if you like, to finish the job."  
  
Mr. Geddes was smiling, too, as he shook his head. "Whatever is good for you, Miss Maddison. I'm afraid the grant we've asked for from the representatives at the Metropolitan Building has been delayed in the system, so it may be months before the actual restoration will be possible."  
  
Elira nodded sympathetically. "That's too bad."  
  
Mr. Geddes shrugged. "Ah well. So, is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
Elira hesitated for a moment and Mr. Geddes' face took on a slightly shrewd look. "I assume you did come back for more than just the rescheduling," he intoned quietly. "You do realize that we could've discussed all of this over the phone."  
  
Elira chuckled a little, inwardly surprised at the curator's perceptiveness. "Well, you're right, I am here for more than the scheduling. I'm here because of one gun we saw. It had some markings on it that Vincent thought might've been Cetra."  
  
Mr. Geddes nodded thoughtfully. "That is possible. Does information about the Cetra interest you?"  
  
Elira shrugged a little. "Yeah. I guess you could say it's a recent interest. Is there any way I could get a copy of those markings from the gun?"  
  
Mr. Geddes considered her request for a moment before answering. "If you need it for today, we do have an instant-picture camera."  
  
"Yes, thank you. Thank you very much, Mr. Geddes."  
  
"No problem at all, Miss Maddison."  
  
While Mr. Geddes fetched the museum's camera, Elira walked up to the second floor and into the room where the ancient guns were kept. By the time Mr. Geddes arrived with the camera, Elira had found the weapon she was searching for.  
  
Mr. Geddes scrutinized the gun before lifting the lens to his eye and taking the picture. A second later, an undeveloped card emerged from the photo outlet. He handed it to her.  
  
"An interesting find, Miss Maddison. I do believe you have some of that eye for things uncommon and extraordinary."  
  
Elira smiled as the picture developed in her hand. "Do you have any idea about the Cetra language, Mr. Geddes?"  
  
The curator looked up from the gun. "No, unfortunately. But, there are professors who teach ancient languages in our university who may be able to help you with a translation." Mr. Geddes stood from his stooped position over the glass case and adjusted his glasses. "Does that aid you in any way?"  
  
Elira nodded, grinning. "Yes, it does. Thank you for all of your help."  
  
Mr. Geddes smiled warmly. "You're welcome, Miss Maddison. And don't feel pressured to return within the next week. Just come when you can."  
  
Elira nodded and, with a departing smile, left the museum.  
  
This time when she arrived at the university, she entered a likely looking building and searched for someone she could ask about the professors. A thin, brown-haired secretary seated at a desk behind a computer caught her eye and she approached her. "Um, excuse me?"  
  
The woman looked up and smiled. "Yes?"  
  
"I'm looking for someone who can help me with a translation."  
  
The secretary looked thoughtful for a moment. "Then you're looking for Professor Fulton. He's the leading languages instructor. And, I believe..." She typed furiously on the keyboard in front of her and then glanced at the screen. "Yes, he has a free period now. You'll probably find him in his lecture room, 221, the second floor."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She took the stairs to the second floor and then wandered down the hall, catching bits and pieces of lectures as she passed some of the rooms. Eventually, she came to room 221 and peeked through the doorway. A man was seated at a desk in front of a large blackboard. He looked forty-ish with wispy blond hair and drawn out features. His long face was made even longer as he frowned while reading what Elira supposed was a student's paper. Unsure if she was interrupting something important, she knocked firmly on the open door. The man looked up for a moment before returning his attention to the sheet in front of him.  
  
"Ah, come in, young lady," he said in an unenthusiastic voice.  
  
Elira walked into the room until she stood in front of the desk. The man pretended not to see her standing there for almost a full minute before he sniffed and glanced up at her.  
  
"Yes? What can I do for you?"  
  
Elira tried to keep her tone pleasant. "Are you Professor Fulton?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I was hoping you could help me with a translation."  
  
Fulton inhaled slowly through his nose and then exhaled noisily. He put the paper down and ran his hands over it as if smoothing it out. "Actually, child, I'm quite busy right now. If you could come back tomorrow..."  
  
Impatience overrode Elira's attempt at courtesy, already straining with the effort it took to keep from becoming offended. She hated being called 'child' as if she was some nine year old. "Professor Fulton, I am not a student. I'm looking for a translation of some Cetra runes that I need for today. I can't come back tomorrow."  
  
Fulton seemed taken aback by her words for a moment and Elira wondered if he'd ever had anyone speak to him this way. "Well, my dear, I suppose I could take a moment to help you in that case."  
  
Elira sighed. "Thank you, Professor."  
  
Fulton mumbled some unintelligible reply as he walked over to a computer station across the room. Sitting down at one console, he asked, "Do you have these runes with you or are we to rely on your memory?"  
  
Elira pulled the picture of the gun out of a pocket and handed it to the Professor. As he took a moment to examine it his scowl began to change into an expression of wonder.  
  
"These really are Cetra runes," he marveled, as if shocked by the fact that Elira had known what they were. Deftly, he entered a few commands into the computer and a program titled Advanced Ancient Languages came up on the screen. Using the cursor, Fulton picked out the runes from a long tool bar; Elira guessed that these made up the Cetra alphabet. Soon, he had finished and he set the computer to the task of translating.  
  
Elira leaned in as it worked, watching over the professor's shoulder as the computer searched through its data files. "So, this will find out what the runes say?" she asked after a minute of silent loading.  
  
Fulton sniffed again. "It is improper to call them runes. A rune literally describes a single letter while each member of the Cetra language makes up an entire word. The term 'ideogram' perhaps describes them better."  
  
Elira shrugged. "Whatever."  
  
The professor seemed annoyed by her indifference and shifted in his seat to wait for the search to finish. Elira smothered a grin.  
  
The sounds of the loading stopped after a few more minutes. Elira held her breath as the runes were translated before her eyes into words she could understand.  
  
'An evil exists in the earth. The creature (being; monster) was drawn by it. We sealed (locked; shut; fastened) it away because there is a power greater than any demon, as only we of the city know.'  
  
Fulton 'hmphed' quietly and turned his head to see what Elira made of it. But she was no longer in the room. He sighed and returned his eyes to the screen, frowning as he read and re-read the words, wondering what in the world they could mean.  
  
***  
  
There was a paddy-wagon parked at the curb outside of her shop when Elira arrived. Surprised, she began to mull over all of the reasons why the police might possibly be at her store. Walking quickly, she made her way down the sidewalk and through the door. The bell jangled above her head.  
  
The first person she recognized was Terry, and he was flanked by two men in uniforms who were wielding guns she had never seen before. These had to be the police officers. Benita was yelling something at Terry, her five foot frame blocking the doorway to the forge against his five foot eight inch build, but he pushed her aside as if she was no more than a doll. Benita cried out as her head hit the stool and then there was no more noise from her. Terry proceeded unchallenged into the forge followed by the officers.  
  
Horrified, Elira ran up to Benita and checked her. Unconscious, but otherwise all right, except for the goose-egg she would probably have later. A terrible rage began to bubble up in Elira. What the hell did Terry want? He was going to regret coming back here. Her hands balled up into fists as if she planned to beat him senseless, Elira entered the forge.  
  
But Terry didn't notice her. He was already approaching Vincent. Vincent, for his part, was standing from his stool, his expression hard and unreadable.  
  
"This is the one," Terry said suddenly, speaking to the men with him. "And now you'll have your proof." He moved suddenly and Elira didn't realize what he was doing until it happened. His arm shot forward in an unexpected jab toward Vincent.  
  
As if he'd seen it coming, however, Vincent dodged out of the way and grabbed Terry's arm. Terry grimaced and pulled for the release of his limb. Vincent let him go without a fight. Elira saw the look on Terry's face that meant his ego had taken a blow and she knew this could get ugly. Quickly she ran up to him and slapped his arm. "Terry! What are you doing here?"  
  
Terry turned to glare at her out of his good eye. The scarlet stitching seemed more pronounced in a face pale with anger. "If you won't listen to me, then I've got to take this into my own hands. He's dangerous, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him get away with what he did to me." Then he grabbed her around the arm. "And you're going to help me."  
  
She squirmed in his grip. "You're hurting me! Let go!"  
  
Vincent was suddenly moving toward them. Terry laughed and Elira stumbled as she was dragged across the room. "You want her, Vince? Come and get her." And then he put a hard hand to Elira's chin and kissed her roughly. Elira gave a squeal of indignation and tried to push him away. When he didn't stop, she kicked at his legs. He gave a grunt when her foot connected with his shin. "Shit! You little bitch!"  
  
For a moment, Elira saw all of her other employees staring in shock at Terry. And then she was abruptly staring at the floor, her cheek stinging as if it was on fire. Had Terry...hit her? She felt her world reel as she tried to straighten up. A moment later, however, she was being pushed the floor. She hit the cement with a cry.  
  
"C'mon Vince! Beat the shit out of me! I dare you!"  
  
Elira forced herself to look up despite the lancing pain in her head. Terry was still standing over her, but his attention was focused across the room. Elira followed his gaze, half afraid of what she would see.  
  
Vincent was trembling. She could see it from here, a violent shuddering as if with suppressed rage, but he wasn't looking at Terry. He was staring resolutely at his workstation and Elira could practically feel his struggle for control. 'Fight it!' Elira urged him silently. 'Please Vincent, they've got guns!' And then, in a flash of inspiration, she thought she could see Terry's plan. Glancing again at the officers, who were staring in stupefaction at the unfolding scene, she realized why she didn't recognize the weapons. They used tranquilizer darts. Terry was going to have Vincent carted away, and she could imagine the stir he would cause in a scientific department somewhere. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach and she tried to get to her feet.  
  
But Terry was just turning to her and he grabbed her arm again, hauling her the rest of the way up. "You need a little more inspiration, Vince?" Elira cringed, waiting for whatever Terry had in mind.  
  
But it never came. With a growl, Vincent was suddenly there, and Elira stared in horror at his eyes, the red eyes of the demon. Even Terry stumbled back. "Now, dammit! Now!" he was shouting.  
  
"You mean this is the demon?" one of the men asked.  
  
"No, you idiot! But I don't want to die! Shoot him now!"  
  
Terry's hold on her arm was faltering. A sudden idea made Elira pull away from him, and the officer she dashed to was too surprised to realize what she was doing until she'd grabbed his gun. And then, recalling everything Vincent had taught her about firing a weapon, she leveled the barrel and pulled the trigger.  
  
The dart flew as if she'd been an expert right into Vincent's shoulder. He stumbled a little with the force behind it at such close range and then turned to stare at her. The encompassing red drained out of his eyes, leaving them as they were before, and he swayed on his feet. Then, as Elira stared, his lips twitched suddenly. "Your aim has improved," he observed dryly. And then he dropped to his knees and fell to the floor.  
  
There were a few moments of silence before Elira turned to Terry, disgusted and angry beyond words. "Get out of here," she told him coldly. "Don't ever come back." She turned to the officers. "You, too! Get out before I call the real police and have you all arrested for harassing my employees!"  
  
Terry glared at her in mute rage but did as she said. The officers followed him out of the forge, and after a few moments Elira heard the bell over her door chime a farewell. It wasn't until then that she realized she had been holding her breath. Drained, she sagged to the cement next to Vincent.  
  
When Benita stumbled into the forge almost a minute later, it was to find Elira and Vincent on the floor and the other employees huddled by the lathe, talking quietly and looking a little unsure of what to do next. Benita ignored them and went to touch Elira gently on the shoulder. Elira started violently at first, but then sighed when she saw Benita. "Oh Beni, are you all right?"  
  
Benita rubbed her head. "Yeah, I'll be okay. You a'right? Is...is Vince...?"  
  
Elira glanced at Vincent and shook her head. "No, he's just unconscious."  
  
"Where's Terry? What'd he want?"  
  
Elira shrugged. "He's gone now, though. I don't know if he'll be back." She sighed a little and struggled to her feet. Benita lent her an arm. "Can...can someone help me take him up to my apartment?" She indicated Vincent with the gun.  
  
Benita nodded and motioned for the other employees to do as Elira said. They were a little slow in complying, but after what they had just witnessed, no one was eager to disobey Elira.  
  
Elira led the way up to her apartment and the others followed, carrying Vincent carefully up the stairs. Still massaging the back of her head, Benita wandered into the front room. A small press of people stood outside the store, looking in through the window, wondering what had happened. Benita suddenly had the feeling that she should be among them.  
  
She also had the feeling that the things she didn't know were about to change everything. 


	15. The Preparations

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Fourteen: Preparations  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Vincent didn't wonder where he was as he struggled to open too heavy eyelids, deadened with induced sleep. Elira's scent was everywhere, mixed with the smell of the forge that drifted up from the shop. He was in her apartment. Slowly, he moved his right arm, wanting to feel out the surface he was on. His hand bumped into corrugated material beside him and he ran his gloved fingers along it. The back of the couch in her living room, he assumed.  
  
Then fingertips met his. Instinctively, he pulled his hand away. His eyelids slid upward and he found himself staring at a stucco design on the ceiling. A quick glance around the room revealed Elira, perched on the arm of the sofa, facing him. One of her hands was still outstretched along the back of the couch as if she was just waiting for him to reach up and take it. The evening light filtering between the buildings of Neo-Midgar shone softly through her balcony window, colouring everything a mellow orange. Her face glowed as if lit from within, and her expression was one of smiling relief. But she said nothing. He wondered how long she had been sitting in silence this way, just watching him, waiting for him to wake. If it was sunset already, he had been out for a more than a few hours.  
  
After a couple of seconds, she slipped to the floor and moved to stand beside him. With a breath, he pushed himself up, and the room spun for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elira lift a hand as if to help him up, but then she put it behind her back. "How do you feel?" she asked him quietly.  
  
He slipped his legs over the side of the couch. His boots, again, had been removed. "Like I was put out with a dart full of sedatives."  
  
Elira chuckled a little and sat down on the edge of her coffee table. "I've been working on my aim."  
  
"So I noticed." She hadn't taken his bandana off. He rubbed his forehead underneath it with his fingers. "Where's Terry?"  
  
"He's gone. But he might be back. He's not the type of person who gives up easily." Her mouth softened into a smile. "That was scary. For a second, I didn't know what to do."  
  
"Did he hurt you?"  
  
She shook her head. "No, nothing serious. I think Benita got the worst of it, a bump on the head." She rubbed hands together in her lap. In the next moment, they both began to speak at the same time. Elira laughed a little and gestured to him. "You first."  
  
"I wanted to thank you, Elira. You may have saved me from something worse than death."  
  
She smiled. "Well, now we're even." Then she turned her attention to her hands again. "I was going to say that it might not be a good idea for you to stick around."  
  
Vincent felt a frown pull on his features. "What do you mean?"  
  
She shrugged without looking up. "In case Terry decides to try that again. We might not be so lucky next time."  
  
"Are you advising me to leave?"  
  
"Well..." She struggled for a moment and then met his gaze. "Yes. But not alone. I'd come with you."  
  
There was something she wasn't telling him. "Where would we go?"  
  
She licked her lips and took a breath as if rehearsing something in her head. "I went back to the museum today and had the Cetra runes -- or ideograms, whatever -- translated." She paused for a moment before plunging ahead. "They said that there's a power even greater than demons, as only those of the city know."  
  
Vincent recalled with vivid clarity the snarling screams of Chaos. "The Forgotten City," he murmured. The dead beauty of the city of the Ancients came instantly to mind.  
  
Elira nodded. "Maybe it's a long-shot, but the way Chaos reacted makes me wonder if maybe...there's something there."  
  
Vincent felt the spark of hope suddenly rekindle as he looked at the idea logically. Was it possible? The Cetra had been able to stop Jenova two thousand years ago. Perhaps there was some power that could help him. But there was a small flaw in the plan. He pursed his lips. "Elira, it could be a dangerous journey from here to the Northern Continent. There are still monsters and wild animals outside of the city."  
  
Elira nodded again and dropped her eyes into her lap. "I know." He had the distinct impression that she'd already thought about this.  
  
He hesitated a moment before continuing. "It might not be a good idea for me to take you with me."  
  
She glanced up at him, smiling a little wryly. "I knew you were going to say that. But..." She began to rub her fingers again. "You're going to need someone."  
  
He was out of sleeping pills and someone else would have to operate the tranquilizer gun. Maybe he wouldn't have to deal with Chaos at all, but if there was one thing he'd learned about the demon, it was that it was intelligent. Bloodthirsty and violent, yes. But it also had a mind. And, considering how it had responded to the runes, Vincent doubted it would think very highly of a trip to the Forgotten City. If it found out what he was up to, it might try to stop him by any means possible.  
  
Which meant that it was probably safer not to go. But then, what would he do? Spend the next ten years hiding? Spend the rest of eternity alone? Was the risk worth it?  
  
He glanced at Elira and thought about leaving, about never seeing her again, things he hadn't allowed himself to think about when he'd tried to leave the first time. It felt so good to have someone to talk to, he acknowledged. Especially someone who wasn't uncomfortable with his appearance and his occasional bouts of brusque reticence. Could he justify putting her in a position of danger? All of his reasons seemed inescapably selfish.  
  
Then, as if she'd been partial to his thoughts, Elira began to speak. "If you were a part of Avalanche, I know you could watch out for me. I saw the way you dodged Terry's punch." Her wry little smile returned. "Though I suppose anyone could have done that, right?"  
  
She was nothing if not persistent. "There are many other ways to learn how to fight and protect yourself."  
  
She shrugged. "If you say so." She was still smiling. He momentarily entertained the thought of telling her that he had been a part of Avalanche, but then he waved it aside. He didn't want the question of his age to come up again. He didn't know how she would react if he told her he was approaching seventy. With a sigh, he began to push himself up from the couch. His legs wobbled underneath him and he sat down again. "Those darts are quite potent," he observed.  
  
"They should be. I had Evan and the others bring you up from the forge, and he told me these darts were made to bring down dragons. He was surprised you weren't dead."  
  
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Chaos wouldn't be that easy to kill." He tried to stand again and managed it, keeping himself balanced with a hand on a nearby lamp. Elira stood beside him and he saw her fidget a little. Her eyes swept over the couch as if looking for something to straighten. He sighed. She was still waiting for his answer. "What would happen to your shop if you left?" he asked her.  
  
She gave a small, abashed chuckle. "I already talked it over with Benita. She said she'd take care of everything."  
  
Vincent thought about this for a moment. "What about the hunting season?"  
  
Elira pursed her lips and glanced at him. "Well...I called Barret, too, and he said he knew of some people he could send up for as long as Benita needed them."  
  
Vincent wasn't really surprised that she'd taken the initiative as if he'd already agreed, trying to make herself into the best candidate she could. After a moment, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I also wrote a list of things we might need. I used to go hunting with...with Eagan and his father when I was younger." She gave a small, convulsive swallow. "So I know a little about this."  
  
He took the paper from her and was impressed with how thorough she had been, though he knew from experience that a number of the things one packed ended up without a use because they were the 'just in case' items. Still, it was better to be prepared. He handed the list back to her. "I also have some gil saved up," she continued.  
  
But Vincent shook his head. "I have enough gil to take the both of us there."  
  
Elira stared at him a moment. "The both of us?" she asked. Her eyes were shining hopefully.  
  
Vincent nodded, hoping he wouldn't have cause to regret this decision. "If we're going to leave in the morning, we should probably get the supplies now."  
  
She was smiling at him, genuinely happy. In that moment, as the sunset bathed her skin with an ethereal fire and her eyes glowed with something that seemed deeper than gratitude, he knew he'd never seen her look so beautiful. For a long few seconds he was unable to look away, but then he forced himself to turn from her. He was going to have to keep himself sternly in check, he realized, if she was going to be coming with him.  
  
They went to the outfitter's first. As Vincent picked out the things they would need, adding a couple from memory, Elira noticed that he was only getting one tent. With a small chuckle, she pointed it out and quietly asked, "Are we going to share?"  
  
Vincent shook his head. "I won't need one."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"One of us will have to keep watch."  
  
Elira frowned. "We can split the watches, can't we?"  
  
Vincent opened his mouth to reply, and then seemed to change his mind. "I see I'm going to have to explain some things." He led her away from the counter and hesitated only a moment before saying, "Having Chaos in my body does more than simply heal me. It also makes food and sleep unnecessary."  
  
Elira looked confused. "But, I've seen you eat and sleep before," she protested.  
  
"Yes, but I don't need to. Some old habits are just hard to break."  
  
"Eating is a habit?" She shook her head. "You know, one minute I think I've got a handle on all of this, and then you throw another curve into the pot."  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm not used to having to tell anyone about this."  
  
"I know." She gave him an apologetic smile. "I guess it's still taking a little time for this to sink in. It's hard to imagine you're that different than me."  
  
Vincent was momentarily surprised by how pleased that made him. She was having trouble seeing him as different when others had struggled to see him as like them.  
  
"Is there anything else you should tell me?" she asked him, and she was half-joking.  
  
"Well." He paused to think. "My senses of sight, smell, and hearing are keener than those of an average human."  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "Really?" And then she laughed. "Actually, maybe that explains why you like the dark so much, and why you don't make any noise when you walk."  
  
He couldn't help giving a small smile. "It does make a difference." And then he walked back up to the counter to finish collecting what they would need, including some extra tranquilizer darts. After that, they went out to get a supply of rations that could be made into quick meals.  
  
It was nearly nine o'clock when they parted for the evening. Running up the sidewalk, Elira managed to catch Benita before she locked things up. At the door, she hugged the older woman tightly, not even trying to pretend she wasn't crying. "Thanks, Beni, for everything. I'm going to miss you."  
  
"God, I'm gonna miss you, too," Benita told her in a voice that was rougher than usual. "When do ya think you'll be back?"  
  
Elira stood up and wiped her cheeks. "I don't know."  
  
"I s'pose you still won't tell me what this's all about."  
  
Elira smiled a little. "I told you, I'm going to help Vincent do something he needs to do. That's all I'll say."  
  
Benita shrugged, grinning though her eyes were full of tears. "It was worth a try." She took a breath as if to compose herself. "Well, I guess I always knew ya weren't gonna stay 'round here forever. Someone like you don't belong in a place like Virna." Then she pulled Elira down and kissed her firmly on the cheek. "I love ya, Lir. Keep yerself safe." And then she left the shop without looking back. Elira was unable to shake the feeling that she was leaving her family behind.  
  
That night, she went to stand on her balcony for the last time, a mug of tea in her hand. As the night air brushed cool fingers through her hair, she stared up at the stars and thought about what they would look like without the lights of Neo-Midgar to dim them. It had been so long since she'd been outside of the city.  
  
A sudden breath of wind made her shiver and she shrugged a little further into her sweater. Life as she knew it was about to change, and she had a feeling it would never go back to the way it had been. Still, she had no compunctions about her choice. This felt right. If Vincent left without her, she suspected that she would always be left to wonder what had happened to him. And, somehow, she couldn't stand that thought.  
  
Elira committed the view from her balcony to memory and thought about the last time her life had changed, when she'd moved from her home in Kalm to Penora as Mrs. Elira Dayle. Kalm was on their way, she realized a moment later. Would they stop there? She hadn't been back in almost three years. She struggled to picture the ocean town in her mind and the memory of it touched her like icy fingers on the back of her neck. She shivered again. It was time to go in.  
  
When she slipped into bed that night, she wondered what Vincent was thinking about. He wasn't the type to spend time staring sentimentally from his balcony. Would he even miss Neo-Midgar? She was inclined to doubt it.  
  
It wasn't long before she was drifting off to sleep. Her last conscious thought was one realizing that this would be her last sleep in her own bed for what might be a long time...  
  
***  
  
Vincent stood from his closet, hefting the only thing left of any value left in his apartment: a box of the assorted guns he'd collected over the years. At his bed, he set it down and began to search through it, tossing various models aside as he hunted for one in particular. When he eventually found it, he lifted it up and checked to see if it was loaded. The Peacemaker. This was the only one that had survived from his time in Avalanche.  
  
He set it aside with some extra ammunition and rifled through the box again for the holster. Once he'd belted it on, the feel of its negligible weight riding on his hips brought back a number of ten-year-old memories: flying in the Highwind, fighting battles, traveling on foot through towns and mountains and grassy plains alike. He picked up the Peacemaker again. Then, almost as an afterthought, he removed his glove. The metal was cool against his skin. Deftly, he flipped the gun around his finger before depositing it into the holster. It was all coming back; the training he'd received as a Turk had survived the latency of ten years. Even as it had survived the dormancy of thirty.  
  
He spent that night on his bed, waiting with a strange sort of excitement for the dawn. 


	16. A Midnight Conversation

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Fifteen: A Midnight Conversation  
  
by thelittletree  
  
The early morning was crisp and cloudless, promising another day of sunshine. Once she had showered, dressed and eaten, Elira tidied up her apartment for the last time and wrote a note to leave with her key for Benita, to let her know she could have her perishable food. At the door, she slipped into her sneakers and her jacket before taking one parting glance at the place that had been her home for almost four years. Unlike Benita, she had a hard time not looking back.  
  
After a few moments she turned and, taking a breath, slung an old backpack over her shoulder that she had stuffed with clothing and various other necessities; the tranquilizer darts she had slipped into some of its outside pockets and the gun itself she had strapped securely within reach. The pack was a weighty presence she wasn't accustomed to, but she imagined that, by the end of this, she would barely even notice it. A small hunting knife Vincent had bought her was also unfamiliar company, hanging in its own sheath from her hip. She shrugged a little, as if trying to get the new accessories to fit properly, before walking out her door.  
  
Vincent was waiting for her outside of the shop, wearing the food satchel, the collapsible tent, and a bag she presumed carried the other things he'd purchased along with whatever else he'd packed. Once she'd locked the door behind her, he handed her a water bottle she could carry on a thin belt across her body. She smiled as she slipped it over her head. "How long have you been here?"  
  
"Not long."  
  
She glanced at the sky, still gray with the approaching dawn. Vincent followed her gaze. "The sun will be up by the time we leave the city," he observed quietly. "We should get going."  
  
Elira nodded and they headed for the train station.  
  
The train they caught dropped them off about a half hour's walk from the outer wall. The guard at the last iron doors didn't ask their business before letting them through and Elira guessed they looked enough like hunters to give them an inferred excuse. As they started north along the dirt road, she tried not to listen for the resonant boom of the heavy doors closing behind them.  
  
The pace Vincent set was brisk and though Elira knew it would eventually have her panting, especially in the growing heat of a spring morning that lacked the tang of the wind, she said nothing about it to him. The last thing she wanted was to give him a reason to change his mind about letting her come. So she walked beside him doggedly and, hoping to keep her mind occupied with other things, turned her attention to her surroundings.  
  
The area around Neo-Midgar was mostly grassland, except for the green sea of a wood on the horizon to the northeast and the jagged peaks of the Midra mountains in their direct line of vision. Occasionally, Elira thought she could hear the retort of a hunting rifle from far away; but for that, and the intermittent call of birds flying overhead, it was quiet. Vincent seemed to have drifted into his own thoughts and, trying to keep up with his long strides, Elira didn't feel compelled to start a conversation.  
  
She guessed that an hour and a half had passed by the time she felt she couldn't take another step without a break. Vincent had undoubtedly noticed her laboured breathing, but he hadn't made mention of it yet. With a hand to her chest, she stopped walking and waited for Vincent to stop and turn.  
  
"I'm sorry, Vincent. I need to stop. Just for a few minutes."  
  
He nodded and they stepped onto the grass, beside the weathered wooden fence that ran along the eastern side of the road. Elira didn't know what the fence was for, but she wondered if perhaps chocobo breeding had once come this far west. Still struggling to catch her breath, and hoping to knead a persistent stitch out of her side, she walked around on the grass for a minute or so before finally sitting down and pulling the cap off of her water bottle. Carefully, she took a few sips and sat back against a rickety post to rest.  
  
Vincent was still staring off toward the north. Elira studied him for a moment. "You don't get tired, either, do you?"  
  
He turned to look at her, squinting against the glare of the sun. "No."  
  
"That must be handy." She took another small gulp of water before closing the bottle up. "How long do you think it'll take us to get to Kalm? If I'm right in assuming that we're heading that way."  
  
"We should reach the mountains by tomorrow evening. After that, perhaps a day's walk."  
  
"At our current pace?"  
  
"Including stops."  
  
"Oh." She shifted the weight of her backpack, trying to get it to settle more comfortably, and then just decided to take it off. "What's after that?"  
  
Vincent turned away again and was silent for a moment. "We'll have to find a way across the ocean, to the Northern Continent."  
  
Elira pursed her lips, alerted by his tone. "That's not going to be easy, is it?"  
  
Vincent shrugged. "It depends. Has Kalm become a port town?"  
  
"I don't know. There was a ferry port in the works when I left." As if it had just started, Elira could feel the sun beating down on the top of her head. She wondered if there was a strip of sunburnt skin across her nose. A second later, she was billowing out her coat and the feel of air moving against her skin made her sigh in relief. Vincent turned to her and she smiled. "I'm a little warm." And then she cocked her head. "Don't you get warm in all that black?"  
  
He shook his head. "I'm not affected by heat or cold."  
  
"Phew!" She gave a breathless chuckle. "You sure you want to get rid of this thing?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow. Elira smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."  
  
Vincent didn't say anything. He just turned back to the north.  
  
They took another break to eat when the sun was overhead, and then another in the afternoon. By the time they stopped for the evening, Elira was almost too weary to eat. She was more than grateful when he offered to set her tent up for her. And that first night, she fell asleep feeling surprisingly comfortable about being outside, knowing that Vincent was standing watch nearby.  
  
When she woke the next morning, her muscles were stiff and sore, but she made herself get up and put her bed roll away. Outside the tent, Vincent was waiting with her breakfast. Smiling her thanks, she ate hungrily, startled by her appetite. Then they packed up their camp and started along the path again.  
  
Vincent was right about the mountains. It was the late afternoon by the time she could see the pass between the cliffs, and about an hour after sunset when they finally arrived at the foothills. With her back, legs, and shoulders throbbing, she gave up on the idea of food and let Vincent help her set up her tent under an overhanging rock. Within a few moments, she was lying down in an attempt to coax her sore, weary body to sleep.  
  
***  
  
Once Elira was settled, Vincent lowered himself to the ground in a defensible position with a rock at his back. From here he could see both the path they had come on and the road up ahead. Idly, he unholstered the Peacemaker and swept the area with his eyes before picking out a target: a smaller rock about fifty paces to the western side of the path. He aimed at it and then flipped the gun around his finger a couple of times before aiming again. Then he holstered the weapon and leaned his head back against the rock. There was only so much that one could do on watch. Last night he had walked a half mile in every direction, just to be sure there were no threats. And there had been none. He thought of the books he had packed with his few articles of clothing and debated for a moment about retrieving one. But he eventually decided against it. He didn't know what might be lurking in the mountains, and to be caught off guard, considering how easily Chaos could now break through his control, might have more consequences than he was ready to face.  
  
After a while, however, his attention began to wander. And, as now happened with some regularity when he had nothing else to occupy him, his mind turned to thoughts of Elira the way one's eyes drift to a candle in the dark. Previously, he had banished all thoughts of her the moment they surfaced, but without her he only had his guilt and regrets. And after ten years of guilt and regrets, it was nice to have something -- someone -- to think about without the baggage of circular negative feelings.  
  
There were particular memories that he allowed himself to dwell on, safe memories, like the conversations they'd had. At this moment, he was thinking about the day in the library when she'd said Lucrecia's name. Had he really called it out in his sleep? He hadn't had a dream about *her* in ages.  
  
He expected the grief was still there; perhaps it would never completely leave him, so intertwined was it with his battered conscience. But Lucrecia had become like a shadow in the back of his mind, indistinct and nearly free of substance, which he was fairly sure he no longer loved. Over the years, his past with her had become like a dark cloak he shrouded himself in, something to remind him of what his bitter love could do.  
  
And to seal him there without the hope of rescue was Chaos.  
  
Except that Elira was trying to prove him wrong about fate; she thought he was worth rescuing. And, as if her belief was contagious, he was beginning to believe it might be possible, too. For one moment, he closed his eyes and let himself wonder tentatively what he might do if he was free...  
  
'Vincsssent...'  
  
Vincent snapped his eyes open and, gun suddenly in hand, he stood cautiously from behind the rock, warily searching the area. Could it have been the wind?  
  
'I'm not out there, Vincsssent. I'm in here...'  
  
The hair on the back of his neck prickled to attention.  
  
'Oh, fear, yesss. I know you hate me. Let it grow. Let me out.'  
  
He clamped down on his unease and tried to force it away from himself. "Chaos?" he murmured.  
  
'No need to ssspeak, human. I can hear your thoughtsss.'  
  
He lowered himself back to the ground, but kept his hand on the Peacemaker instinctively as he remained on guard. Chaos had never spoken to him before. He hadn't even realized the thing *could* speak. "What do you want?"  
  
'Quietly, human. I'm only curiousss. Why have you left the csssity?'  
  
At least it couldn't hear *all* of his thoughts. "Why should that bother you?"  
  
'By itssself, it doesssn't. But there hasss been a change in your emotionsss of late that I find...' There was a sudden hissing in his mind. '...dissstasssteful. That girl hasss done sssomething to you. Ssshe isss affecting your behaviour. What isss ssshe making you do?'  
  
"Nothing I'm not doing out of my own will."  
  
'Don't avoid the quessstion!' It was nearly a shriek and Vincent winced, resisting the urge to cover his ears. 'Tell me where you're going.'  
  
"It's no concern of yours where I go. This is still my body and I choose my own destinations."  
  
There were a few beats of silence. 'Very well. If you wisssh to make thisss difficult on yourssself, I can accommodate. Enjoy the sssuffering!'  
  
Vincent didn't have long to wonder about what Chaos was going to do. The pain was nearly instantaneous and unlike anything he'd felt before, an agonizing mixture of physical and mental anguish as the demon tried to force a transformation. Vincent had come to believe through experience that, without the bridge of his own weakness, Chaos was a prisoner in his mind; it was obvious now that he had underestimated the demon's abilities. And his fear only served to feed the demon's strength.  
  
There was a horrible hissing laughter in his head as he staggered to his feet, fighting madly against the changes he could already feel taking over his body. His ears and teeth grew; the wings pushed against his physical frame, beneath bones and skin. Though his teeth were clenched, he knew he was screaming. How could he stop this?  
  
Elira... Another pang of agonized fear lanced through him. Chaos knew she was here. It would kill her... Was there time to go into her pack and inject the darts himself before it was too late? It was only a few feet away. He forced his body to move, one foot in front of the other, toward the tent.  
  
But then the wings burst out of his back, wrenching a horrible sob of pain from his throat, and he fell to the ground, writhing in mindless agony.  
  
"Vincent! Oh my god! Vincent!"  
  
He forced his eyes open in time to see her running barefooted across the grass toward him with the tranquilizer gun. After a moment, she stumbled to a halt and jerked the barrel up.  
  
But the pain was coming to an end and he could hear Chaos' searing laughter in his head. 'You sssee my power. One day, ssshe will not be fassst enough.' And it began to withdraw.  
  
Despite a sudden deadening weariness and the aching of his body, Vincent pushed himself up and raised a hand to Elira. "No! It's over! Don't shoot!"  
  
For a moment, he was sure she was going to fire anyway out of pure adrenaline. But then she lowered the gun and he could see her shaking. Relieved, he let himself drop back to the ground and concentrated on breathing as the last vestiges of the demon disappeared beneath his skin.  
  
He sensed it when she fell to her knees beside him, and then her hands were on him as if checking for injuries. His first instinct was to shake her off, but the feel of her palms running along his sore, shuddering muscles was erasing the memory of the pain and he submitted to her.  
  
He was almost surprised a minute later when he realized that he was falling away into unconsciousness 


	17. Kalm

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Sixteen: Kalm  
  
by thelittletree  
  
'Oh, not again.' Elira felt her face contort with the urge to give yet another yawn and she eventually gave in to it, breathing in a chill lungful of the still night air. Then, blinking gritty eyes, she shifted her fingers on the unfamiliar weight of Vincent's gun and continued peering blindly out into the darkness.  
  
She wasn't sure why she had put herself on point; it wasn't like she could really see anything, and she was so tired and sore her aim would undoubtedly suffer if she tried to fire a bullet. But Vincent had seen a need for putting himself on watch, so she was uneasy about just leaving him asleep on the ground completely unguarded. A bullet in the air, she'd decided, would probably be enough to scare an animal away. But not if she was yawning every other minute instead of paying attention. Resolutely, she shook herself and, after fussing for a moment with the blanket she'd thrown over Vincent, stood to walk around the camp.  
  
The moon and stars were out, but, despite their light, shadows were still indiscernible blobs in the distance. She was fairly sure she wouldn't have been able to tell a monster from a rock even if it was moving toward her. With a sigh, she shrugged further into her coat and began to rub some warmth back into her right hand around the gun.  
  
It was a gibbous moon, and she could make out some of the more familiar constellations -- like the warrior-hero, Cletus. The sight reminded her of something her father had said a month after the funeral when she was deciding to move back to Neo-Midgar: 'Elly, remember to look at the stars any time you feel trapped in the city. They'll remind you that freedom is never very far away.' She'd supposed at the time that he'd meant for her to remember things like that night on the shore a mile out of town when he'd taken her to watch a meteor shower, smelling the salt of the ocean and feeling the wind in her hair. But now his statement seemed a trifle trite. Why did everyone think of freedom when they looked at the stars?  
  
Cletus had been a real warrior once, if legends were true. He'd been fierce and brave and full of life. He'd felt love and pain the same as anyone else. But now he was a constellation, forced to stare down for eternity on a humanity he could never rejoin. What kind of reward was that? Sure, stars were beautiful and they stayed beautiful for a long time, but what was it like to stay young and bright while the humanity you remember grows old and dies around you? She imagined it was very depressing.  
  
"Elira."  
  
She started and turned to see Vincent's red eyes glowing out of the darkness. "You're awake," she observed unnecessarily.  
  
He stepped up beside her and glanced at the sky. "What are you looking at?"  
  
She looked back at the stars and chuckled a little. "Nothing, really. I think I was starting to fall asleep on my feet. Oh." She held his gun out to him. "Here."  
  
He took it from her and blinked. "Were you on watch?"  
  
She shrugged, smiling. "One of us had to be, right?"  
  
His lips twitched. "I suppose I did say that." Deftly, he holstered the gun and Elira saw a twinge of something cross his face. Then, carefully, he lifted the prosthetic and began to knead his right shoulder with the fingers. She had to clench her teeth to keep herself from offering to help. Instead, she turned to the matter at hand. "Vincent, what happened? I didn't see anything out here. What made you transform?"  
  
He stopped working at his sore muscle and gave a sigh. Inevitably, those gloved fingers came up to slip under his bandana, and Elira knew something was troubling him. "Nothing," he answered after a moment. "Nothing happened. Chaos simply..." He dropped his arm and made an expanding gesture with his hands.  
  
"You mean there was no warning or anything?"  
  
He paused again before speaking. "No, there was nothing. Perhaps you should go back and get some sleep, Elira."  
  
She had the distressing feeling that he wasn't telling her everything. "But...you weren't angry or anything. It just...?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But, what does that mean?"  
  
Vincent shrugged. "He's stronger than I thought."  
  
Elira frowned. "He?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You said 'he'. Every other time, you've said 'it'."  
  
Vincent's eyebrows twitched downward. "I think you should go back to sleep, Elira."  
  
She wanted to ask some more questions, but he didn't seem in the mood to answer them. "Are you sure you're all right?"  
  
He nodded without looking at her. "Good night."  
  
"Good night, Vincent." She made her way to the tent and couldn't help turning to look at him once before heading inside. She was surprised to find him pacing, the glint of the moon on his prosthetic giving him away in the darkness.  
  
***  
  
By the late afternoon, Elira could see the profile of Kalm up ahead of them, only a couple of miles away, dipping in and out of sight as the terrain sloped and climbed. The first glimpse of it put a lump in her throat, the same lump she'd gotten when the salty flavor of the ocean had come up and tweaked her nose like a familiar friend. This was home. Neo-Midgar was where she had lived for four years, but Kalm would always be home. She wondered what her father was doing this very moment.  
  
Vincent wasn't looking at the approaching town. It almost seemed like he wasn't looking anywhere.  
  
He hadn't said more than a few words all day. Elira didn't mind that. She wasn't the type of person who needed conversation to feel comfortable around someone. But something about his silence this time said more than anything spoken would have. It was something in the way he was walking, the chiseled expression on his face, as if he had backpedaled behind another wall.  
  
She'd been thinking as they went along about what he'd said the night before. Stronger than he'd thought. 'He' was stronger than he'd thought. Vincent hadn't been off his guard, and yet Chaos had managed to break through. What did that mean? Did it mean they were going to have to be ready at all times for 'surprise' transformations? The thought unsettled her, but she had the gun within reach and she could keep it close at hand when she slept. It didn't change things all that much, did it? What could be bothering him so much?  
  
A faintly acrid odor in the air suddenly attracted her attention and she had the strange feeling that it had been there for awhile, familiar enough to have stayed in the background until now. She frowned, trying to place it...  
  
***  
  
'Do you sssmell that? Think of all the rotting metal, all thossse decomposssed bodiesss. Delightful.'  
  
Vincent kept his mind carefully void of thought. Chaos laughed, and the sound was like water scissoring across a hot burner. 'Are you sssuprisssed that I know about Midgar? I wasss there, you know. I remember watching it through your eyesss.' There was a pregnant pause. 'I have ssseen other thingsss, too, Vincsssent. I remember her. Ellllira.'  
  
Vincent was startled by this and had to fight against a surge of violated anger.  
  
'Ssso lusssciousss and young and fragrant, all ssskin and curvesss...'  
  
Vincent struggled against the memory Chaos' words were threatening to reanimate and eventually forced it to the back of his mind. 'Leave me, damn you!'  
  
Chaos laughed again. 'Thisss isss very entertaining. After ten yearsss of nothing but sssleep, it isss nicssse to have sssomething amusssing to do.'  
  
Peripherally, Vincent saw Elira lift her head and he could hear her sniffing the air. "What is that?" she asked suddenly.  
  
He wasn't sure if she'd aimed the question at him. "It's Midgar," he answered quietly. Chaos said nothing. Vincent wondered if the demon had finally tired of his -- its -- game.  
  
Comprehension dawned on her face. "That's why I recognized it. We used to be able to smell it during the summers. I wonder why no one's cleaned it up."  
  
Vincent didn't know. But Midgar had not been a good place, and he doubted anyone wanted to risk disturbing its ghosts, even to bury them.  
  
They hadn't spoken in hours. He supposed it wasn't surprising that she might want to talk. Looking thoughtful, she turned to him. "Vincent, if Kalm does have a ferry port now, I'm thinking that it might not go to the Northern Continent. That's a long way, and I doubt the Forgotten City is a big tourist attraction."  
  
And that's when Vincent realized his mistake. Chaos was not gone, just listening. And Elira couldn't have known. He hadn't told her to watch her words because Chaos could now enter his conscious mind. With a simplicity that shamed him, she had just given away his secret to the demon.  
  
And Chaos screamed with frenzied rage. Vincent cringed at the sound and stumbled, putting his hands to his ears though he knew it wouldn't help.  
  
'Vincsssent! You're taking me to the Ancsssientsss! Death to you! Hell take you! Madnessss find you!'  
  
This time, the pain wasn't unexpected, but it was still debilitating. One of his knees gave out and he dropped clumsily to the ground, trying with all of his might to counter the changes that had already started with his ears and teeth. But, as before, he could only offer token resistance. He hoped Elira was ready...  
  
***  
  
Elira was so startled by Vincent's reaction that she couldn't move for a few seconds. And then she was grabbing frantically for the gun on her pack. "Vincent, hold on!" Dammit, what was it caught on? Without trying to find out, she continued to yank as hard as she could, breathing in short, panicked gasps through her teeth. Was she going to be ready in time? He was crouched on the ground a few feet away from the path, twisting and shuddering with the pain, only stopping his half-muffled screams to draw breath, and this was only so he could scream again. Then he arched his back with a sudden sob and the wings burst like great dark shadows from his shoulder blades.  
  
Too late, too late! She glanced desperately at her pack and turned awkwardly so that she could fiddle with the straps. There! One of them was caught in the zipper! She hastily tugged it free and pulled the gun into her hands.  
  
But Chaos was already getting to its taloned feet and scenting the air. When it turned to her, the leer on its face reminded her of the day in Odriam and she trembled. She could almost sense its desire to rip into her flesh and taste her blood...  
  
Despite her shaking arms, she raised the gun and aimed for the thing's heart, or where she assumed its heart would be. The dart flew into its shoulder. No more than a moment after it had entered, however, the demon swiped it from its skin and she heard the needle break with a *ping*. And then, she was almost sure she saw that horrible mouth grin.  
  
Elira stared for a second with wide eyes, torn between fight and flight. And then she turned and fled. 'Dear God, this is it,' she thought, feeling a stone of dread settle in her gut. 'I'll never outrun it.' But after what might have been a hundred yards with no sounds of pursuit, she dared a glance over her shoulder.  
  
The demon had lifted into the air, but instead of swooping toward her it was riding the air currents northward, approaching Kalm and the ocean. Elira jogged to a halt, confused as she watched it move further and further from her. But then she thought she saw it shake its head as if trying to rid itself of something. Was Vincent fighting it from the inside? She followed it anxiously with her eyes, holding her breath.  
  
It drifted along with a deceptive serenity, as if it might have been a bird stretching its wings. And then it dipped clumsily about twenty feet before stabilizing. Elira felt a surge of hope. Some of the drug must've gotten into its system. She began to wonder suddenly if Vincent knew how to swim.  
  
With purpose, she began to run.  
  
She chased it until her lungs were wind-burned and the muscles in her legs were threatening to buckle, and then she dropped to the grass, gagging and coughing as her exhausted body tried to retch. When she could finally raise her head, it was to see the demon descending, not into the ocean, but into the heart of Kalm. Before it disappeared behind a building, however, she thought she saw a telltale flutter of black hair.  
  
It felt like it took her a long time to reach the town. And, instead of spending a few minutes just looking around at the place she had grown up, as she might have had they just walked in, she continued running through the streets, looking for any signs of Vincent or the milling confusion of a crowd. When she hadn't seen anything by the time she came to the town square, she stopped to catch her breath and get her bearings.  
  
Two men were talking nearby and, as she spent a few moments just gasping and looking around, she couldn't help but overhear them.  
  
"Right there, almost right on top of Dan Crossman's wife, and she screamed like you wouldn't believe."  
  
"But what was it?"  
  
"Hell if I know. Just a monster, I guess, though I've never seen one that could turn into a human before."  
  
Elira turned to stare at them and was almost surprised when she recognized one of them, a short wiry man with brown hair and lined features that looked like they were used to smiling. The second man she didn't know, though the long white scar from his ear to his chin made her sure she could pick him out again. Quickly, she approached them. "Mr. Blackfield? Excuse me, Mr. Blackfield?"  
  
The two men looked at her and the shorter one raised his eyebrows suddenly. "Hey. Aren't you Davis Maddison's daughter?"  
  
"Yes, hi. It's been a long time."  
  
"It sure has! Aren't you living in Neo-Midgar now?"  
  
"Um, yeah, but listen. Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Sure. Shoot."  
  
She glanced at the other man, feeling his eyes on her. The way he was staring was making her uncomfortable. "You're talking about the..." She faltered a moment. "...the stranger who just landed in town, aren't you?"  
  
"Stranger?" Mr. Blackfield chuckled a little. "I'm not sure it wasn't more monster than stranger, but, yes."  
  
"Well..." She smiled a little helplessly. "I was just wondering where he went."  
  
"Oh." Blackfield grinned at her comfortingly. "Don't worry about that. Someone's already taken care of it."  
  
Elira felt her blood run cold. "What?" she whispered.  
  
"Yeah, we've got a guy here in town who takes care of all of the monsters who venture in."  
  
"Take...takes care of them?"  
  
Mr. Blackfield didn't seem to notice her distress. "Uh-huh. Usually he just kills them where they are, but this one he threw a blanket over and pulled into his house. He's a strange one." He laughed a little, but stopped when he realized that she wasn't smiling. "Is something wrong?"  
  
Elira knew she was trembling but she couldn't stop herself. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be. He'd survived a shot through the heart once. "Where does this man live?" she asked, faking a calm she didn't feel.  
  
Blackfield frowned, looking confused. "Well, right over there, actually. The thing practically landed on his doorstep."  
  
Elira nodded. "Thanks." She started dashing across the square, but then turned. "It...it was good to see you again."  
  
"Oh, um. You too."  
  
She knocked fiercely on the door and then, when she didn't get an immediate response, she knocked again. After a few seconds, she could hear the sound of footsteps, and then the door opened to reveal a tall, attractive woman in her mid-thirties. In fact, Elira was momentarily taken aback by the woman's beauty. Not everyone was blessed with those kind of looks, and the river of brown hair she wore to her waist looked like it had never seen a tangle. "Yes?" the woman asked.  
  
Elira took a breath. "I need to know what...what your husband did with the man who landed in town earlier."  
  
The woman's face relaxed into a smile and she began to talk placidly. "I wouldn't worry about it. My husband's taken care of it. He won't be a danger to anyone."  
  
"He hasn't..." Elira swallowed with a little difficulty. "He hasn't killed him, has he?"  
  
The woman seemed surprised by the question. "Well...he's taken care of everything. Just, please, go back about your business..."  
  
Elira was losing patience. "Look, can I come inside? I'm with the man your husband brought in."  
  
The woman stiffened suddenly. "You're with Vincent?"  
  
Elira blinked. "You know Vincent?"  
  
"Tifa, who's at the door?"  
  
The woman's curtain of hair swayed gently as she turned to the man, presumably her husband. Fairly tall and slim, he was about the woman's age with unruly blond hair that, in contrast to his wife's, looked like it had never seen a brush. His eyes, however, were the things that caught and held Elira's attention. They were almost too blue to be believed.  
  
"She says she's with Vincent," the woman, Tifa, said.  
  
The man frowned and stepped up beside his wife. "Who are you?"  
  
Less afraid than she'd been moments before, Elira was starting to regain her composure. "My name is Elira Maddison. I know Vincent from Neo-Midgar."  
  
The man stared at her with obvious suspicion. "Tell me something about him."  
  
Elira was caught off guard by the request. "Well, he's good with guns, he..." She wondered for a second how much she should say, but then realized that they probably knew it all already. "He transforms into a demon called Chaos, he was once in love with a woman named Lucrecia..."  
  
Tifa turned to her husband. "I think she's telling the truth."  
  
The man's expression lost some of its hard edge and he nodded, opening the door. Elira stepped inside. "Thank you. Is he all right?"  
  
"That depends on what you mean by all right," the man called over his shoulder as he walked away from the door and down a hallway to his left.  
  
It wasn't a large house, but it was well kept and comfortable. Elira took her sneakers off before stepping into the living room. Tifa closed the door behind her and smiled a little. "Sorry to give you the third degree, but Vincent's a friend of ours and we don't want anything to happen to him."  
  
Elira nodded. "I can understand that." She started toward the hallway and Tifa accompanied her to a lighted room.  
  
Still unconscious, Vincent had been settled comfortably on a bed and Elira noticed that all of his traveling gear, plus his coat and boots, had been piled on the floor. She moved to his side and stared down at him. A strand of hair had fallen across the bridge of his nose but she didn't move to push it away, not sure how his friends would construe the gesture.  
  
The man stood to her right, looking thoughtful. And then he glanced at her. "My name's Cloud Strife, and this is my wife Tifa." And then he began as if continuing a previous conversation, "So, I don't know what's wrong with him. We've tried to wake him, but he's out like a light."  
  
"That's because I used a tranquilizer dart on him." She indicated the gun she'd strapped back onto her pack. "It's the only way to control Chaos." Then she pursed her lips, remembering something. "He might actually still have the needle of the dart in his left shoulder."  
  
"The needle?" Cloud stepped up and, with a brisk efficiency, undid the first four buttons of Vincent's shirt to expose his shoulder. A small, irritated circle showed where the piece of metal was lodged beneath the skin. "How did that happen?"  
  
"Oh." Elira felt a bit flustered at having to explain. "Chaos brushed the dart away and the needle broke off inside." She glanced up in time to see the tail-end of a glance shared between the married couple. And then Cloud sat on the edge of the bed. "Tifa, will you get me something sharp and that small set of pliers?"  
  
Tifa nodded quickly and disappeared out the door.  
  
Once his wife was gone, Cloud sighed a little, staring down at Vincent. Then he looked up. "So, you're with Vincent?"  
  
She nodded. "I have...had a weapons shop in Neo-Midgar, and he was one of my employees."  
  
He flicked his eyes over the tent and packs on the floor. "What's the gear for?"  
  
"We're traveling to the Northern Continent." Elira pursed her lips. "Do you know anything about Chaos?"  
  
Cloud shrugged. "A little. I saw it a few times when we were fighting together."  
  
Elira realized she might have a chance to get some of her questions answered. "In Avalanche?"  
  
Cloud nodded.  
  
Elira smiled. "So he was in Avalanche."  
  
The man glanced up and then looked at her shrewdly. "You shouldn't do that. I didn't know he hadn't told you."  
  
"Well, you couldn't have known. He must've been pretty young then, huh?"  
  
Tifa entered at that moment. "Here you go, Cloud. I ran them under hot water. Do you want us to hold him down in case he wakes up?"  
  
"Please."  
  
Tifa had brought him a thin, sharp instrument that looked like it might have once been a part of something else. Carefully, Cloud inserted it as close to the original wound as he could and began to worry at the lodged needle. As if he'd been put out under anesthetic, Vincent didn't move or make a sound.  
  
Eventually, the tip emerge far enough for Cloud to grasp it between the prongs of the pliers. Slowly, he removed the metal splinter and looked for somewhere to put it. Tifa grabbed a tissue and put it beside him on a desk. He set the needle down and Elira could see the tinge of blood on it.  
  
"There." Tifa stepped out for a minute and then came back in to hand him a cloth. "That should do it." He wiped the wound and proceeded to close Vincent's shirt back up. And then he turned back to Elira. "So why are you and Vincent going to the Northern Continent?"  
  
"He wants to get rid of Chaos and we found some clues that point to the Forgotten City as a place that might be able to help us...help him."  
  
Tifa was gazing at her speculatively. "How well do you know Vincent?"  
  
"Oh." Elira shrugged a little with a self-conscious chuckle. "We're just friends."  
  
Tifa nodded but Elira thought she didn't look convinced. Then Cloud stood. "Well, I don't care how well you know him. It's none of our business." He seemed about to leave the room, but then he hesitated. "If you need a place to stay for the night, this is a spare bedroom and there's a couch in the living room."  
  
Elira was surprised by the offer. She smiled. "Thanks."  
  
"No problem. Anything for an old friend and his...friend. C'mon, Tif." He touched her elbow and they both left. One of them pulled the door until it was just sitting ajar.  
  
Elira sat wearily on the bed. "Oh Vincent." She took the opportunity to brush the strand of hair away and cupped his cheek with her hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't quick enough. I'm sorry you're going through this." She swept his face with her eyes and then found her gaze lingering on his lips. After a moment, she looked away resolutely.  
  
A sudden creak made Elira look toward the door. She couldn't help but smile when she saw a young face peering at her. "It's all right. You can come in."  
  
The girl entered and a smaller girl, her younger sister Elira surmised, shuffled in behind her. Both of them were good-looking children: the older had long, brown hair, like her mother's, and all the appearance of being sharp and inquisitive; the younger had tousled blond curls and seemed ready to follow her older, braver sister around as long as she could suck noncommittally on her thumb.  
  
"Who are you?" the older girl asked.  
  
"My name is Elira. What are your names?"  
  
"I'm Aeris, and this is Doria. She's only five, and I'm eight." The girl's eyes turned to Vincent. "What happened to that man?"  
  
"He..." Elira glanced at him. "He's sick. I'm trying to help him get better."  
  
Aeris seemed to think about this for a moment. "When I'm sick, my mom gives me soup."  
  
Elira smiled. "I've tried that already."  
  
The sound of footsteps coming down the hall made both girls turn toward the door. Then Tifa was looking in. "Girls, what did I tell you about this room? Off-limits, remember? Our guest needs his sleep." She herded her daughters out into the hallway and then smiled apologetically at Elira. "I'm sorry. They're just curious."  
  
"It's all right. I was like that at their age."  
  
Tifa's smile widened a fraction. "You know, we're about to eat. Did you want to join us?"  
  
Elira considered the offer, but then shook her head. "No, thank you."  
  
"All right. Well, in any case, I hope we can talk to you a little later. You can tell us what Vincent's been up to. We haven't seen him in a long time, and he's not always forthcoming with information."  
  
Elira laughed suddenly. "That's very true." She stood from the bed and Tifa left the door open for her. Elira made sure to turn off the light before she stepped out.  
  
The sun was low in the sky when Elira walked out into the peace of her old town. She was gratified to see that things hadn't changed all that much. Almost of their own accord, her feet began to lead her down the familiar sidewalks.  
  
It wasn't long before she was standing outside of a squat, two-story house, staring with fondness at the weathered brown bricks and the black-shingled roof. After a minute or so, she followed the flagstone path past the front porch and around to a side door. From here, she could catch glimpses of the tiny, fenced-in back yard. Without knocking, she turned the doorknob and a bell sounded overhead.  
  
The room inside was made up like a parlor with sinks and reclining chairs. Two men looked up as she entered. One, an older man, was sitting back in a chair with his cheeks and chin liberally slathered with cream. The other, not much taller than Elira herself, was black-haired and balding with a pair of glasses perched on his nose. His eyes widened as he recognized her.  
  
Elira grinned at him, but her mouth contorted as she realized that she was about to start crying. "Hi, Dad." 


	18. Sin and Temptation

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Seventeen: Sin and Temptation  
  
by thelittletree  
  
"You know, I think you look more like your mother every time I see you, especially now that you're growing your hair. She was such a beautiful woman." Davis Maddison stepped away from the stove and handed his daughter a bowl.  
  
Elira smiled as she took it, warmed by his comment. When he turned away, she sniffed the stew experimentally and then put a spoonful in her mouth. After a moment of chewing, she raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Wow, this is good. Are you sure you made this?"  
  
Her father laughed as he sat down beside her with his own bowl. "What, you don't think your old man can cook?"  
  
"Well, you do remember that incident with the..."  
  
"Yes, yes. I remember," he interrupted her with a chuckle as he pushed reflexively at his glasses. "Did you have to bring that up? I'd come so far in forgetting."  
  
"Except that you'll always have that stain on the wall over there to remind you."  
  
Her father grinned and the sight of his smile was so familiar Elira couldn't help but return it. "So how are you, Elly? It's been so long since you've been home."  
  
"Almost three years," she told him absently.  
  
"And when's the last time you called?"  
  
She shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, Dad." And she felt genuinely remorseful. There always seemed to be a reason to put it off. "I'll try and call more often."  
  
"I think you say that every time." He smiled to show her he was kidding. "But you didn't answer my question. How are you?"  
  
"I'm fine, Dad, really. You don't have to worry about me."  
  
"All right, it was just a question."  
  
It was always 'just a question'. "No, I know. Sorry. How are you? How's the barbering business going?"  
  
"Oh, same as always. I've got my regulars."  
  
"That's good." Elira made a show of looking around. "Where's, um...what's-her-name?"  
  
"Danae?"  
  
"Yeah, I thought she was going to move in or something."  
  
"Well..." He glanced into his stew and scratched the top of his head. "That didn't work out."  
  
"For you or her?"  
  
"For both of us. We both decided that maybe it was a little fast."  
  
"But you're still seeing her, aren't you?"  
  
Her father shrugged a little. "Sometimes. We're not that close anymore."  
  
Elira looked at him sympathetically and put a hand out to rub his arm. "I'm sorry, Dad."  
  
"Well, these things happen." When he looked up at her again, there was a twinkle in his eye. "Are you seeing anyone, Elly?"  
  
She'd known this would come up, sooner or later. "Oh, Dad."  
  
"Come on, I'm your father. I have a right to know."  
  
She sighed. "No, Dad, I'm not."  
  
"What happened to that fellow, Terry?"  
  
Elira hesitated, swallowing back her pained anger at his name. "I was never seeing him, and I don't ever want to see him again."  
  
"Didn't part on very good terms, did you?"  
  
"And I don't really want to talk about him."  
  
"All right." Her father stirred his food and Elira had the distinct impression he'd made himself a bowl just so she wouldn't be eating alone. "So, what are you doing up here? I don't see any luggage."  
  
She felt herself begin to relax again and was surprised at how her body had tensed at the mention of Terry. "Oh, well, a friend and I are just passing through."  
  
"Through to where?"  
  
Elira shrugged and took a bite of stew to give her a little time to think. "The Cosel Continent. I'm helping him look for someone."  
  
"Him? Your friend is a man?"  
  
She rolled her eyes in mock irritation. "Yes, Dad, but he's *just* a friend."  
  
"If you say so. Who's he looking for?"  
  
"Oh, um, a relative."  
  
"I see." Elira half expected her father to ask who the relative was, and was grateful when he didn't; perhaps he'd sensed her reluctance to answer. "Who's taking care of the shop while you're gone?"  
  
"Benita is."  
  
"Ah." He smiled. "The biker-woman."  
  
Elira laughed, wondering what Benita would think of the title. "That's the one."  
  
"So, where are you staying? You know, you don't have to stay at the inn."  
  
Elira took another bite of stew and tasted potato. "No, we're staying with some friends of his for now, and we'll be leaving as soon as possible."  
  
Her father frowned. "How soon is that?"  
  
"I don't know." She wiped at a corner of her mouth with a finger. As her father stood to get her a napkin, she asked, "Do you know if there's a port in town?"  
  
"There's a ferry port, but that's it." He sat back down and handed her a paper towel. "And I think it goes every two or three days to make a drop off at that resort, Costa Del Sol."  
  
Elira nodded and wiped her mouth. When she had spooned up the last of her impromptu meal, she put a hand palm up on the table and smiled warmly when her father took it in both of his. "Thanks for dinner, Dad. I've missed you a lot."  
  
"Not enough to call on a regular basis, though."  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"All right, all right. Of course I've missed you, too."  
  
Elira chuckled and squeezed his fingers. "But I should probably get back."  
  
"How did I know that was coming?" He grinned again. "If you're still here tomorrow consider yourself invited for supper, and bring your friend. I'll make something a little more substantial than stew."  
  
"Well, maybe." She cast him a teasing glance. "As long as you promise you won't embarrass him with questions."  
  
Her father raised one hand as if to plead his innocence. "I wouldn't embarrass him on purpose. After all, how could I have known that Eagan..." He stopped talking suddenly. After a moment, he frowned in chagrined remorse. "I'm sorry, honey. I forgot you'd asked me not to mention him."  
  
Elira forced a smile. "It's all right, Dad. Really. I can't avoid talking about him forever, can I?"  
  
He squeezed her hand suddenly. "That's my strong girl." The mix of pride and compassion she saw in his eyes made her throat tighten. Then he stood and, pulling her to her feet, gave her a tight hug. "I love you, Elly."  
  
It felt so good to be in her father's embrace. She held him back and let herself inhale the familiar smell of his aftershave. "I love you, too, Dad. And I'll call you, I promise."  
  
"All right." He let her go and walked with her to the door. "Come by tomorrow, if you can."  
  
"I will." She stepped out into the evening air. The sun was nearly finished setting and the well-known features of her childhood home were disappearing into shadow. "Good night, Dad."  
  
"Good night, Elly."  
  
On the way back to the Strife residence, she began to wonder what the chances were that she would see her father again before they left. Would Vincent want to join them for dinner, especially if he didn't need to eat? Being taken to 'meet the parent' had a lot of stereotypical strings attached, and she questioned whether it would make Vincent uncomfortable. Undoubtedly. She laughed ruefully at the idea under her breath.  
  
"Elly? Elly Maddison?"  
  
Elira turned in surprise at the sound of her name and saw a man waving at her from the other side of the road. She waved back, not sure who she was seeing. "Hello!"  
  
The man glanced perfunctorily for traffic before dashing across the street to her. He was an older fellow, maybe in his fifties, but still good-looking with a full head of iron gray hair and strongly defined features. Elira felt her heart stutter as she recognized him and every muscle in her body seemed to tense up.  
  
As he approached her he smiled, only slightly out of breath. "God, it's been ages since I've seen you around here. How are you doing?"  
  
"Fine." Her voice had become no more than a whisper. She cleared her throat. "Fine, Mr. Dayle. How are you?"  
  
Her once-father-in-law and employer swept a lock of hair from his forehead. It was such a familiar gesture, one his son had inherited, that it made her chest ache. "I'm doing all right. Enjoying my early retirement."  
  
She couldn't seem to concentrate on the conversation. "Oh. You...you mean you're not working at the auto-body shop any more?"  
  
He shook his head. "No, I sold it to take care of Noreen."  
  
Elira recalled his wife, a tall, vigorous woman with a loud laugh. "Is she sick?"  
  
Mr. Dayle dropped his eyes suddenly. "No, she passed away, actually. Two years ago, now."  
  
Elira felt a tremor in her limbs. "Oh no, I'm so sorry."  
  
He shrugged a little, an awkward gesture on such an imposing man. "Well, Eagan's death hit her hard. She never really recovered." Then he met her eyes and smiled again, though it seemed a trifle forced. "Well, let's not talk about that. What have you been up to lately?"  
  
"Um." She was surprised by the urge to run. She glanced around as if searching for an excuse to leave. "I...I've been working in Neo-Midgar."  
  
"Yes, your father tells me about you when I go to get my hair cut. I'm glad you've been able to move on with your life, Elly. I really am. How's your shop doing?"  
  
She took a breath. "It...it's fine. Look, I'm sorry, I'd love to stay and chat with you Mr. Dayle, but I've got to go. Someone...someone's waiting for me."  
  
He raised a hand and nodded. "No, I understand. Sorry for just shouting at you from across the street. Would you have time for a cup of coffee sometime? It's been awhile since our last hunting trip." This time, his smile seemed more authentic.  
  
"Um, sure. I don't know how long I'll be in town, though. I'm just passing through. I'll...I'll come to the house if I have the time, all right?"  
  
"Okay. It's been really good to see you." He held out his hand and she took it automatically. Even his fingers felt like Eagan's. "I hope we get to talk again. Have a good night." He turned and walked back across the street. Elira watched him until he was out of sight, waiting for her heart to stop pounding in her chest.  
  
His son, and then his wife, and now even his job was gone. A part of her mind tried to point out that he didn't look unhappy, that it was possible he'd remarried or something, but she couldn't listen to it. She'd taken everything from him with the death of his son...  
  
"Vincent," she whispered into the night, hardly aware that she'd spoken aloud. Vincent would understand how she felt, she was reasonably sure. And maybe if he told her it hadn't been her fault she'd be able to believe him. Resolutely, she began to walk again, moving quickly until she was nearly jogging.  
  
In the expectation of her return, the Strife's hadn't locked their door. She stepped in and belatedly remembered to tug off her sneakers before heading to the bedroom where she'd left Vincent. She was grateful when her arrival went unnoticed by the house's residents. She didn't know if she could handle small talk right now.  
  
When she entered the room, though, Vincent was still asleep. Chewing her lip uncertainly, she carefully shut the door and went to sit by him on the bed in the dark.  
  
"Vincent?" she whispered.  
  
He gave no sign that he'd heard her. She sighed, feeling suddenly very alone. 'Please, wake up. I really need someone to talk to.'  
  
But he remained as he was, motionless with his eyes closed. She briefly entertained the thought of shaking him awake, but then changed her mind. Those transformations were hell on him and he needed the rest, whether he said so or not. Not sure what to do, she rubbed her fingers together in her lap.  
  
And then, unexpectedly, she felt that she wanted a drink. She hadn't had any alcohol in a long time, but she was suddenly craving a beer. And there was a bar only a couple of blocks away. She bit her lip, considering, but after a moment she simply stood. She wasn't going to question it.  
  
She'd been to Ermine's Place a few times, but never by herself. It wasn't busy as she walked through the door, and the only table that she might have classified as 'rowdy' was at the back. Sighing, she slipped onto a stool at the counter and ordered a beer.  
  
It wasn't until her third sip that she realized she was being stared at. Trying to look nonchalant, she glanced over her shoulder. At a table a few feet behind her sat the man with the scar on his face. When she met his eyes, however, he looked away. She turned back to her drink.  
  
Eagan... God, how she missed him sometimes. If she hadn't been so stubborn, if she hadn't yelled at him, would he have lived? She shuddered as the old, weary grief settled on her like a cold blanket of rain and took another swallow of her beer. His poor mother; his poor father. She might've saved them so much pain if she'd kept her temper that night. His mother might still be alive today...  
  
A few more gulps brought her to the bottom of the glass. The bartender looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he dried a mug. "You want another?"  
  
She nodded wordlessly, too ashamed of herself to speak.  
  
***  
  
When Vincent awoke on a bed in a dark room, his first inclination was to believe that he was in his own apartment. However, he soon noticed that the smell was wrong, and the window on his left wasn't where it should be. Confused, he pushed himself up and then had to wait a moment for the room to stop spinning. Where was he?  
  
His shoulder gave a twinge and he suddenly recalled the dart. Elira... The fight against the demon came back to him, and he remembered trying desperately to repress his anger and fear in the hopes of gaining some control, of forcing it toward Kalm. Had it worked? Was that where he was, at an inn?  
  
He glanced around the bed and felt an uncomfortable flash of panic. But where was Elira? He'd gotten used to finding her close by and it was disconcerting to wake up without her there. Chaos hadn't managed to hurt her, had it?  
  
A sweep of the room revealed his things in a pile on the floor. Carefully, he slipped his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. After a second, however, he sat back down. This was going to take a couple of minutes whether he felt like waiting or not. He sighed and, after a moment, began to probe around in his mind. 'Chaos?' he ventured cautiously. There was no answer. Whether the demon was absent or simply keeping quiet Vincent didn't know. It was obvious that he wasn't in his conscious mind at all times, or he would have known about the Forgotten City long ago.  
  
When he tested the strength of his legs again, he was pleased to find that they could hold his weight. As he searched through his things for his coat and boots, he found Elira's pack and felt a surge of relief. She was here. Another glance around the room convinced him that he wasn't at an inn. There were too many personal effects for this to be anything but someone's home. But who would have taken them in? He approached the door and listened for a few moments before stepping out into a hallway.  
  
The sound of paper rustling drew him silently to the right and he glanced around a corner into what looked to be a living room.  
  
A young girl, maybe seven or eight years of age, was perched on the edge of a couch, her elbows on a shallow coffee table as she worked on something with a pencil. Surreptitiously, Vincent studied her face, certain that he recognized particular traits about her -- her lips and cheekbones, specifically -- though he was just as certain that he'd never seen her before.  
  
Abruptly, the girl flipped the pencil around in her hand and began to use the eraser to madly negate whatever she'd written. Then she sighed in frustration. "Mom! Mom, I need your help again!"  
  
A voice emerged from another room. "Yes, Aeris. I'm coming."  
  
It was like stepping into a memory. Though the voice had deepened over time into a warm alto, it was still recognizable. And then, like a recollection come to life, an older, though no less beautiful, Tifa walked into the room, dish towel in hand. As she stepped up to the couch, however, something seemed to alert her to the presence in the mouth of the hallway and her gaze flicked upward to meet his. She straightened suddenly with a gasp, looking like she'd seen a ghost. "Vincent!"  
  
He stepped fully into the room, feeling somewhat out of place. He spent a moment searching for the correct words to say. "Thank you, Tifa, for taking me into your house."  
  
"Oh. Well..." She chuckled a little. "Don't mention it. We weren't just going leave you out there." She continued to stare at him in visible shock as if she couldn't quite believe that he was there.  
  
The girl, Aeris, was also looking at him closely with undisguised curiousity. Eventually, she asked, "Are you feeling better?"  
  
"I'm fine," Vincent replied, and then added, "thank you."  
  
"Good, because we don't have any soup."  
  
He frowned, momentarily thrown by her logic. Tifa gave a breathy laugh, startled out of her reverie. "Well, we may not have soup, but I can get you something else if you want. You've been out for almost four hours." And then she shook her head as if the situation was just dawning on her. "My God, after ten years here you are. Barret said he'd found you, but... God, we thought you were dead."  
  
Vincent wasn't sure what to say to that. After a moment, he simply got down to business. "Where's Elira?"  
  
  
  
"Oh. She left about..." Tifa blew her breath out. "Maybe two or three hours ago? I'm not sure. It sounded like she was coming back here for the night, though."  
  
"Did she say where she was going?"  
  
"No, but she seemed worried about you. She'll be glad to know you're awake." Tifa pursed her lips. "Who is she? She said you two were traveling together."  
  
"She is..." There were suddenly too many words to describe her and too few terms to classify their precise relationship. "She was my employer in Neo-Midgar."  
  
"So she said."  
  
The sound of heavy footsteps descending from the second floor drew Vincent's attention to the kitchen doorway, and then Cloud was stepping into view. "Tifa, where are Doria's white pajamas? She won't wear anything else." And then, in a gesture that unconsciously mimicked his wife, Cloud's eyes darted across the room and widened as they noticed Vincent. After a moment of staring in apparent shock, he rallied himself and approached with an outstretched hand. Vincent took it and submitted to the handshake.  
  
"Vincent. It's good to see you again. How are you? How's your shoulder?"  
  
"My shoulder?"  
  
"There was the needle of a dart...well, that doesn't matter." He waved the question aside. "What are you doing in Kalm? That woman, Elira, said you were on your way north."  
  
Vincent nodded and wondered how much she'd told them. "It's a personal quest."  
  
Cloud smiled suddenly, and it was strange to see the gesture when Vincent remembered the somber, chaotic youth the man had been. "Well, if we can help with anything, just say so."  
  
Tifa spoke up then. "He's looking for Elira. Do you know where she went?"  
  
Cloud shook his head. "No, she didn't say anything to me."  
  
Vincent gave himself over to a moment of thought. Elira had grown up here; she had her father here. She may have gone to visit him.  
  
But still, something about her absence grated on him, though he wasn't sure if it was just because he was starting to feel responsible for her safety and liked to know where she was. The circumstances surrounding Terry and the teenager (and himself, if he thought about it) had proved that she had a knack for getting herself into potentially hazardous situations.  
  
He also felt it was a little late to be visiting, especially if she'd been planning to come back here for the night. But where else would she be? What might have delayed her? He doubted Kalm had the same problems with street violence that existed in Neo-Midgar.  
  
And then he remembered that Eagan had lived here, too. This was where she'd met him. Perhaps some memory had upset her? Where would she have gone in that case?  
  
Where had he gone the night Lucrecia had rejected him?  
  
Cloud's directions to the nearest bar proved to be very helpful. Not even two steps in the door, he spotted the woman he was looking for.  
  
She was seated at the counter. Or, more accurately, sloping toward the counter. Hunched on a stool with a near-empty glass of brown liquid in her hand, she was staring at an undefined point in front of her while her head drooped slowly. He doubted she even realized that she was sagging forward.  
  
He stepped up to her side and it was a moment before she registered his presence. Blinking languidly, she glanced up into his face and then frowned as if she was trying to place him. "Vincent?"  
  
He sighed a little. She was definitely drunk. "Elira, I've come to take you back to the house."  
  
She seemed to think about this for a few seconds. "Well, okay. But don't tell my dad I was here. He hates beer." Then she scowled and raised her hands. "How can you hate beer?"  
  
She didn't look very anxious to leave the stool. Inwardly cursing his own weakness, Vincent took her left arm and, after placing it over his own neck, lifted her to her feet. She squawked a little at the movement, but began to put one foot in front of the other as he started walking.  
  
That's when he noticed that he was being stared at. It wasn't an uncommon thing and he was used to it, but it didn't mean that he liked it. A glance out of the corner of his eye showed him a man, maybe in his late thirties, with a scar that ran from ear to jowl. Resolutely, Vincent ignored him and concentrated on getting Elira out the door.  
  
As he led her with an agonizing slowness down the sidewalk, she carried on a rambling one-sided conversation that didn't seem directed at anyone. From it, he gathered that she'd gone to her father's house, and then had met someone on the street -- the 'who' wasn't quite clear at this point -- and that had convinced her to go to the bar.  
  
About a block from Cloud and Tifa's house, Elira dissolved into an unexplained fit of giggles and, nearly tripping on her own feet, broke away from him. Then, from a distance of a few feet, she placed one hand on her hip and beckoned to him with a finger, smiling dangerously. "C'mere."  
  
Vincent took a breath. "Elira, you're drunk. Let's get you to bed."  
  
She gasped suddenly and put her hands over her mouth. "To bed? Aren't you being a little presum...presumpt-u-ous." Then she laughed again and stumbled. Vincent stepped up to catch her before she tripped over the curb. She fell against his chest and he felt her stiffen suddenly in surprise. Slowly, she looked into his face and he saw her swallow. Her expression began to contort with tears. "She's dead, Vincent," she said abruptly. "I killed her, too." Two tears tracked their way down her cheeks and she sniffled. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone, you know. I *loved* him."  
  
Vincent felt a twinge of pity. "I know, Elira." And he only spent a moment debating before pulling her into an embrace. Sobbing quietly, she clung to his upper arms and cried against his collarbone.  
  
It was a minute before she settled into silence. When he was sure she was done, Vincent gently withdrew to look her in the face. Her eyes, weary with drink and weeping, were closing against her best efforts and she swayed on her feet without the support of his body.  
  
And, despite the fact that they were only a block away, Vincent came to a decision that, for once, was made completely against his own interests. Turning her a little, he bent down and scooped her up around the knees and shoulders. She gasped at the suddenness of the action, but as he hefted her up to lean against him she put her arms around his neck and pulled herself closer to his warmth. "Please, don't leave me," she whimpered.  
  
Her face was close enough that he could feel her breath on the side of his chin. And, notwithstanding the overpowering smell of alcohol, he wanted to crush his mouth to hers, wanted to kiss away the tears and the sound of her hitching breaths. The night Lucrecia had turned him away, he'd had no one to comfort him, no one to bring him home from the bar except some of Gast's men, and they'd simply left him on his bed to wake up alone with his hangover. He knew what it felt like to be there...  
  
Steadfastly, he set his face forward and began to walk.  
  
At the front door of the Strife residence, he knocked heavily with a knee. After a few moments, Tifa appeared to let him in. When she saw Elira, her expression registered worry, but Vincent didn't stop to explain. He carried her to the bedroom and, shutting the door with a foot, moved to set her on the mattress.  
  
She wasn't quite asleep. He heard her sigh as he lay her down and, when he went to take her arms from around his neck, she made a sound of protest and tightened her grip. "Don't leave." She opened her eyes and looked at him imploringly.  
  
Vincent pursed his lips. "I won't, but you have to let go."  
  
After a moment, she gave in and pulled her arms away. Vincent straightened and considered her for a number of seconds before sitting down at the end of the bed to remove her sneakers. Soon, they were both on the floor and he moved forward to slip her out of her coat.  
  
She managed to keep herself elevated with her arms when he sat her up. Carefully, he pulled the jacket over her shoulders and down to her wrists. He was just leaning forward to draw her hands out of her sleeves when she turned her head and, with an understated simplicity, kissed the side of his mouth. Vincent closed his eyes at the feel of her breath over his lips. "Elira..."  
  
She tilted her head a little to kiss him again, and this time it was more centered. Frowning against his own lack of control, Vincent slowly returned the kiss and tried to hold back the part of him that wanted to take this further. It wasn't right. He couldn't take advantage of her. Though, his mind argued a moment later, who was really taking advantage of who?  
  
The feel of her tongue against his mouth made him shiver and he withdrew a little, breathing heavily in the silence. Gods, did she even realize what she could do to him? He glanced into her face and realized that her eyes were closed, though her lips were turned up in a tiny smile. That smile seemed to drain away his defenses. With a small shudder, as if he was shaking off a burden, he kissed her again, slipping his hand across the nape of her neck, irritated by the barrier that his glove presented. The kiss deepened in a moment and Vincent felt a pleasurable warmth go through his body. Then, desperate to feel skin against skin, he slid his lips down her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent.  
  
"Mmm...Eagan..."  
  
Vincent stiffened and, shaken, drew away from her. Eagan? And then the realization of what he had almost done made him stand from the bed. She was drunk, and he was so weak he'd almost given in to her advances. Cursing himself under his breath, he moved to pull her hands from her sleeves from a safe distance and, after depositing the jacket on the floor, turned to leave the room.  
  
"No, please. Don't leave me." It was barely a whisper. Vincent felt two sides of him war for control for a moment before he opened the door and left.  
  
The night air was cool against his skin and he welcomed it after the heat of her presence. Was he a fool? If Chaos had decided to make him transform, Elira would have been completely at its mercy. Had he forgotten? He cursed himself again and walked with purpose toward the edge of town. He needed some time to think, and something to do with the frustration of his body.  
  
It was a good thing Kalm was surrounded by miles of empty grassland, perfect for hiking. 


	19. Secrets

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Eighteen: Secrets  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Elira was fairly sure within five minutes of waking that there were several small civil wars going on in her body.  
  
Within ten, the one going on in her head was using cannons and the one in her stomach was using catapults.  
  
She raised her head from the toilet bowl and waited a few moments to see if anything else was going to try and make a break for the outside world. When it seemed she was done for now, she stirred and flung a limp arm out to push the handle. As the toilet flushed noisily, she winced and dragged herself to her feet. The woman in the mirror looked terrible, with bloodshot eyes and pale, clammy skin. Elira scowled. "What the hell are you looking at?" she asked herself. And then she began to rinse her mouth out in the sink.  
  
God, she hadn't had a hangover since her years as a teenager. Wearily, she turned off the water and lay her forehead on the cool counter with a moan. She'd forgotten how unforgiving they could be.  
  
A black shape in her peripheral vision made Elira glance at the bathroom doorway. Vincent stood there, watching her impassively. She moaned again and turned her face away. "Don't look at me. I feel like hell."  
  
"Drink some water. It will help."  
  
She rubbed a twinging temple against the inside of her elbow. "I only had three beers, Vincent. Three, and not even on an empty stomach. That tells you how long it's been since I've gone out drinking." She sighed, realizing that she was rambling. "How did I get back here, anyway?"  
  
Vincent didn't answer immediately. After a moment, Elira turned to look at him and was surprised by the rigid set of his jaw; the red eyes she met with her own gave nothing away. "I brought you back," he replied finally.  
  
Elira cringed and took a breath. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't do anything, did I?"  
  
His expression became unusually guarded. "Do anything?"  
  
"Like vomit on your boots or something."  
  
He seemed to relax a little and shook his head. Elira wondered what he thought she'd meant. "You just talked -- at length."  
  
She chuckled softly and winced as her skull throbbed. Vincent disappeared from the doorway. When he reappeared, he was carrying a glass of water. Elira moved to sit on the lid of the toilet and took the drink gratefully. "Thanks." She sipped at it slowly. And then she stared at her socked feet. "Did you take off my shoes and coat, too?"  
  
He paused a moment before nodding. "You've done the same for me."  
  
She smiled a little and put the cool glass to one cheek. "Thank you for bringing me back. I'm sorry I went out and got drunk."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't need to apologize to me. I'm not the one with the hangover."  
  
She smirked at him. "Are you always this funny, or only when I'm feeling awful?" She took another sip of water. "I don't want to delay our trip. I found out from my dad that there's a ferry docked in town, and it goes to Costa Del Sol every few days. We might be able to get something from there."  
  
Vincent nodded. It was then that Elira realized how disheveled he looked; more so than usual. She frowned. "Are you okay? You look a little..." She made a gesture with her hand to indicate his clothes and hair when she couldn't find the word.  
  
Almost self-consciously, he shrugged his coat back into place. "I went for a walk last night." And then he switched topics, though Elira couldn't tell whether or not it was done intentionally to prevent further questions. "Why did you go to the bar?"  
  
She lowered her eyes. "I ran into Eagan's father on my way here. It just...brought everything back. His wife died." She looked into his face and found some comfort in the way he was listening. "She became sick after Eagan's death and never really recovered." Elira swallowed suddenly, feeling a lump in her throat. "I felt like...I'd killed her, too," she admitted quietly.  
  
Vincent crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "People choose their own deaths. Eagan did, and so did his mother by dwelling on her dead son."  
  
Elira curled a corner of her lip. "Does that mean Lucrecia did, too?"  
  
Vincent dropped his eyes for a moment. "I suppose," he answered, though his tone had lost its conviction.  
  
With a hand on the counter, Elira pushed herself to her feet and smiled at her companion. "Thanks for the drink, I'm feeling a little better. I think I'm going to have a shower now."  
  
Vincent nodded and stepped out of the doorway to leave her to it.  
  
The hot water worked wonders for her headache, and by the time she was rinsing her hair she was feeling much better. The woman in the mirror now looked a little more presentable. And then, as she was staring at herself and drying off with a towel, she remembered a dream she'd had the night before.  
  
At least, she thought it was dream. Parts of it had seemed so real...  
  
It had been a dream of Eagan, a dream that he was making love to her. Or at least preparing to. The memory of those lips gliding across her skin, his breath tickling the fine hairs on her neck, was still so vivid she could almost feel it again.  
  
But then he'd withdrawn, and despite her pleas that he stay, he'd left her alone. It was just the same old history.  
  
She dressed in some clean clothes from her pack and then went looking for Vincent. She found him looking out of the living room window. The sun was barely up. Wordlessly, she slipped up beside him. "Another sunny day, I'll bet," she observed.  
  
He nodded. And then he glanced at her and she got the impression that he had something to say. She moved to face him.  
  
"Elira..."  
  
The sound of someone coming down the stairs made them both turn, and from where they were standing they could see Cloud when he entered the kitchen, dressed in a wife-beater and a pair of faded jeans. He glanced at them and gave a brief, tired smile before stepping out of sight again.  
  
Vincent continued to stare across the room. Elira cleared her throat quietly. "Vincent?"  
  
He pursed his lips without looking at her. And then he sighed and dropped his eyes to the floor. "There's something I should tell you. In fact, I should have told you earlier."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
He swallowed visibly. "Chaos can enter my mind, and he can use my senses. I didn't know he could until the night before last. He's been speaking to me. He was curious about where I was going."  
  
Elira licked her lips, afraid to ask where this was going. "Did you say anything...?"  
  
Vincent glanced at her and his red eyes were direct. "No. But you did yesterday, when you mentioned the Forgotten City. That's why I transformed."  
  
Elira felt her jaw fall open in dismay. "Oh...oh no. God, I'm..."  
  
"Don't apologize," he interrupted her softly, glancing back across the room. "It wasn't your fault. I should have told you."  
  
Still, Elira couldn't help feeling guilty. "So, now it's going to try to stop you?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. "Is it in your mind right now?"  
  
Vincent shook his head a little without looking at her. "He hasn't been in my mind since yesterday. The dart may have pushed him out, I'm not sure. Forcing a transformation may drain him more than when he waits for a moment of weakness." He sighed deeply. "Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea..."  
  
Elira lifted her chin at this. "Don't start with that. I know you don't really want to run away and hide somewhere. Someone who went up against Sephiroth and Jenova shouldn't be afraid of dealing with a few hurdles, should he?"  
  
Vincent's head snapped around at this and Elira almost laughed at the unmitigated surprise on his face. "I tricked Cloud into telling me," she explained.  
  
Vincent's expression became one of rueful resignation, though she thought she saw one of the corners of his mouth twitch. "None of my secrets are safe from you," he said, and the tone of his voice was almost a little mournful.  
  
She grinned. "Apparently not. You must've been just a teenager back then. Unless you're older than you look." She cast him a sly glance, daring him to explain himself.  
  
But Vincent was a little lost for words, and before he could form a reply there was a knock at the front door. Elira glanced out the window again but from where she was standing she couldn't see anyone.  
  
Cloud entered the room, running a hand through his hair to belatedly groom himself. "If you guys want some coffee, it's almost ready," he told them as he walked to the door. "And you can help yourselves if you're hungry."  
  
"Thanks," Elira told him. Coffee sounded good right about now. A few steps from the kitchen, however, something she heard made her stop in her tracks.  
  
From over her shoulder, she'd heard Cloud open the door, but she hadn't been paying attention to the conversation that followed until a gruff voice suddenly shouted, "Look, Strife, if you're not going to take care of it, we are! I know it's here; there's the bitch it came to get at Ermine's last night!"  
  
Elira turned suddenly and found herself staring past Cloud at the man from the bar, recognizable even if she couldn't see his scar at the moment. His face was contorted with a bitter scowl as he glowered at her. Then her eyes were drawn to the left of the door, where Vincent was still standing. He looked angry and Elira began to search through her mind for the location of the tranquilizer gun.  
  
The man seemed ready to charge into the house, and she could hear the voices of men behind him. But Cloud had placed his hands on both doorjambs, blocking his way. "Get out of here, Lud. You smell like whiskey."  
  
"Fuck you," the man, Lud, growled. "You think you're such a hot-shot, think you can do whatever you want. Well, I care about this town. This is my home, has been for more than twenty years, and I'm not gonna let some...punk keep me from protecting it!"  
  
"You don't even know what you're talking about." There was a kind of deadly calm to Cloud's words and Elira recalled the brusque loyalty he'd shown to Vincent yesterday afternoon when she'd come asking after him. She had the feeling that he wouldn't think twice about putting himself in danger to protect his former comrade.  
  
"I know you've got a monster in there, and it doesn't deserve to live," Lud seethed. "You don't want to make me your enemy, Strife. I've got a lot of support in this town."  
  
"A lot of support? It looks to me like three men with kitchen knives."  
  
"This isn't a kitchen knife." And he pulled out a gun.  
  
Just as quickly, Cloud disarmed him. He spent a moment looking at the weapon. "Nope, this is a gun," he observed. "A cheap one, too."  
  
Lud suddenly looked a little shaken. "Gimme that back."  
  
Cloud seemed to spend a moment thinking. "No, I'm going to keep it for awhile," he replied placidly in a voice that bridged no opposition. "And then, when you've slept for a couple of hours and taken a bath, maybe I'll let you have it back. Now, get out of here. My wife and kids are still asleep, and I don't want all of your shouting to wake them up."  
  
Lud looked mad enough to burst. "Goddamn asshole. You're going to regret this." And then he turned and walked out of sight. Cloud shut the door and, breathing a weary sigh, unloaded the gun. He then slipped the bullets into a pocket and hid the gun in a drawer.  
  
"Who was that?" Elira asked.  
  
Cloud shrugged and was about to reply when Vincent strode suddenly across the room and out of sight down the hallway, his face an emotionless mask. Cloud frowned a little, but didn't say anything. Elira had the distinct impression that Vincent's anti-social behaviour was something he'd just accepted.  
  
"That was Lud," Cloud told her and Elira glanced at him from where she'd been staring after Vincent. "He tried to run for mayor the year Tifa and I moved here, and when he lost he blamed it on me." He shrugged again. "He's not really dangerous, just angry. Every once in a while he comes up with an excuse to show up at my door with a gun."  
  
"Oh." She glanced at the mouth of the hallway again. "I think I'm going to make sure Vincent's all right."  
  
Cloud waved his unnecessary permission and left for the kitchen.  
  
Vincent was in the room with the door closed and the lights off. Elira found him seated on the bed, staring with an idle sort of fascination at his metal arm. She came to stand in front of him. He didn't look up.  
  
"Vincent, what's wrong? Were you getting angry?"  
  
He shook his head. "There are still things you don't know about me," he said quietly in a hollow voice.  
  
It wasn't the response she'd expected. "What are you talking about?"  
  
He glanced up at her and his red eyes glowed, hard and spiteful, in the dimness. Elira felt a strange tingle of fear on the back of her neck. "You don't know me, Elira," he said in a cold, soft voice. "You may think you do, but you don't. You don't know anything about my life before Chaos, unless Cloud told you that!" His tone was suddenly harsh and angry.  
  
She swallowed and tried to hold on to her composure. "All I know from Cloud is that you were in Avalanche. That's all he told me. What are you so angry about?"  
  
As quickly at it had come, his anger faded. "I haven't lived a good life, Elira. I've never been a good person. I've never had many friends." He glanced into her face. "There are times I've believed that Chaos is a manifestation of what I am on the inside."  
  
Elira scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."  
  
He stood abruptly from the bed and Elira took an instinctive step backward. "Don't say that," he told her roughly, glaring with a muted rage. "You don't know what I've done. Don't pretend to know. You may know about Lucrecia, but that was only the last of a host of sins. I was a monster long before Hojo's experiments!"  
  
Elira stared at him, startled by the outburst. Where had this come from? Was it because of that man, Lud, calling him a monster?  
  
Vincent was watching her closely with a grim determination, as if her expression would prove him right or wrong. And then he seemed to realize that he was making her uncomfortable. With a sigh, he sank back down onto the bed. "I'm sorry, Elira. Forget what I just told you. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with."  
  
Elira felt a kind of frustrated pity for him. "Vincent, I don't care about your past. I really don't. You always seem to be looking out for me; a monster wouldn't do that. And you have a conscience, and a sense of humour. You're definitely not a monster."  
  
He glanced up slowly to look her in the eye, as if afraid to see that she was lying. She smiled warmly at him. "And nothing you could tell me about your past would make me think otherwise," she told him.  
  
He suddenly looked desperate to believe her. She had to fight the urge to follow her words up with a tight, reassuring embrace.  
  
After a moment, he dropped his gaze back to his prosthetic arm. "I think I want to be alone for a little while," he said quietly.  
  
Elira sighed silently. "Okay. I'm going to go find the ferry port and ask someone when the next one is leaving."  
  
He nodded without glancing up.  
  
'What could he have done in his past?' Elira wondered as she went to ask Cloud for directions. Vincent had said he'd lived in Midgar for a few years, and it had been a city rife with misery: inescapable crime, senseless murders for money and power perpetuated by Shinra itself. Was it so strange to think he might have been involved in something illegal? Maybe even immoral?  
  
So, maybe he had been, in his youth, what people would've called a monster. But the man she saw now, an unglorified hero of the planet, was completely human.  
  
Only humans could regret. 


	20. The Ferry

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Nineteen: The Ferry  
  
by thelittletree  
  
"The next ferry's set to leave this afternoon," the portly dock-master told her, scratching idly at his scalp under the blue cap that didn't quite fit his head. "If you want to be on it, you'd better buy your ticket now."  
  
Elira pursed her lips. "Okay, but let's say that, after I get to Costa Del Sol, I want to get up to the Northern Continent. Do you know if there are any boats or ferries that go up that way?"  
  
The man looked surprised. "The Northern Continent? Why would you want to go up there? The place is practically uninhabited."  
  
Elira smiled a little. "Will I have to tell you to get an answer?"  
  
He chuckled, and then glanced over his shoulder as someone called his name. He waved for them to wait and turned back to her. "I'm sorry to have to say this, but there isn't anything that goes from anywhere to the Northern Continent." Elira was just starting to sigh in discouraged frustration when the man amended, "Unless you want to take a barge."  
  
"A barge?" Elira felt a returning spark of hope. "What's a barge?"  
  
"It's a big rectangular scow of supplies for the scientists up there, in Bone Village. A tug pulls it up about once a month."  
  
"Once a month?" Elira couldn't help her disappointed scowl.  
  
The man smiled at her sympathetically. "Sorry I can't give you better news. You in a hurry to get there or something?"  
  
Elira shrugged and tried to return his smile. "Maybe. Thanks a lot for your help."  
  
"You're welcome, m'dear."  
  
When she returned to Cloud and Tifa's house she discovered Vincent in the room, looking like he'd just come out of the shower. To see him reclining on the bed with his ankles crossed, engrossed in a book, made her feel a little better; she'd been half expecting to find him in the same position she'd left him in, staring moodily at his prosthetic. As she entered, he glanced up and put the book aside. When she gave a heavy sigh to his unspoken question, he sat up and she took it as an invitation to sit down.  
  
Wearily, she rubbed her face, still feeling the after-effects of the sunshine on her hangover. "There's a ferry leaving for Costa Del Sol today, in a few hours," she told him, "but the only thing that goes from there to the Northern Continent is a barge, and that's only once a month."  
  
Vincent didn't say anything for a few moments. Eventually, Elira looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. "What do you think?"  
  
He sighed a little. "I suppose we go to Costa Del Sol."  
  
Elira quirked a corner of her mouth at him. "So you're not going to turn us right around and head back?"  
  
He shook his head. "Not now. Chaos will never let me be again, I have a feeling, after this breach of trust." He sighed again and seemed to drift into his own thoughts for a moment. "We'll have to find somewhere to stay for possibly as long as a month," he observed, almost to himself.  
  
Elira nodded and leaned forward, putting her elbows onto her knees. "How much gil do you have left?"  
  
"After the ferry tickets, I doubt it will be enough. Perhaps one room for a week at the hotel."  
  
She blew her breath out. "What I've got might buy us two." And then she chuckled. "Maybe we can just stay on the beach. It's not like we'd die of exposure." Vincent raised an eyebrow and she grinned at him. "Are you a beach-person, Vincent?"  
  
His lips twitched a little. "What do you think?"  
  
She chuckled again and then rested a cheek in one palm, considering. "Maybe I can get a job up there, if we have to stay that long."  
  
Vincent looked as if that would not be his first option. "If anyone's going to work..." he began, but Elira interrupted him.  
  
"You're not going to work, Vincent. Don't even think about it. What would I do, follow you around with the tranquilizer gun?"  
  
He frowned. "Elira..."  
  
"Don't, Vincent. I'm not going to give on this. You can't work with Chaos acting the way it is. It's not safe for you or others."  
  
He shut his mouth on his protest. And then, after a moment of silent contemplation, he gave a sigh of resignation and began to rub his forehead under the bandana. "I'm sorry about this, Elira."  
  
His apology surprised her. "Don't be sorry, it's not your fault. And I don't mind working. It'll give me something to do." She smiled a little. "Besides, you've already got the job of making sure Chaos stays where it is. I'll give you the darts to inject by hand, and you just have to make sure you don't destroy the room."  
  
Vincent raised an eyebrow and his lips twitched again. "I don't know. Remember how much luck I had with my apartment."  
  
She laughed a little. "Then maybe I'll just have to drug you every day before I leave, hmm? Or chain you to the bed?"  
  
She didn't realize how it sounded until it was out of her mouth. And then, startled and embarrassed, she met Vincent's eyes to see that he was similarly surprised. She wanted to chuckle awkwardly and wave the image away, but it hung between them like the unspoken memory of the night in his apartment and she knew her face was flushing.  
  
When the wall came down over Vincent's expression, Elira felt acutely abandoned in her shame and she regretted ruining the easy atmosphere. Quickly, she got to her feet. "I should get the tickets. The dock-master told me to do it soon."  
  
Vincent nodded wordlessly and pulled some gil from his coat. As he handed it to her, he was careful so that even his glove didn't brush her skin. Stuffing the gil into a pocket, she fled the room, resisting the urge to look back.  
  
***  
  
Once Elira was out of sight, Vincent shut his eyes and began to rub his forehead again. The fact that she could break his composure with one simple, unintentional sentence made him cringe. Was his control truly so precarious? He cursed under his breath. And now he'd made her upset. After all of this trust he'd placed in her, was he not willing to trust her with the knowledge of his desire for her?  
  
He'd wondered now and again if perhaps she'd been telling the truth about only wanting a friendship with him. She'd given no hints of anything otherwise of late, at least not while she was sober. But there it had been in her eyes, unconcealed, as evident as his own would have been if he'd let her see it -- her attraction to him; that spark of chemistry. And it was like lighting a match in a powder room: dangerous. If she knew how sorely he had been tempted the other night...  
  
He swallowed. If she knew, would she press her advantage? He wanted to say no; he wanted to trust her. But the human will and human lusts were often perilously balanced, and it would take only moments for Chaos to realize his chance and take it.  
  
And they were going to be spending an indefinite amount of time together in a small hotel room? He sighed. Just the *three* of them. If that wasn't fairly inviting fate to rain curses down on him, he didn't know what was.  
  
And so...  
  
He sighed again, heavily. So. He would have to leave her alone in Costa Del Sol until the barge arrived. It was the best way to protect her. He doubted she'd be very happy with his choice; in the end, he wasn't very happy about it either. He didn't want to have to leave her alone, though he knew already that he would keep himself close by just to make sure she was safe. But it was the only way if they were going to make it, he decided.  
  
He took a breath as he resolved himself. And he silently hoped Elira would forgive him when he simply disappeared again without an explanation.  
  
***  
  
On her way back from the dock, as she walked through the Strifes' living room, Elira nearly bumped into Tifa as she studied the tickets in her hands. Nineteen hour trip? This day just kept getting worse and worse. She hoped she wasn't the type to get seasick.  
  
Tifa hefted her laundry basket and smiled as she glanced at the tickets. "You're going to take the ferry?"  
  
Elira shrugged. "I guess so. There isn't anything else we can do. The Northern Continent doesn't seem very popular."  
  
Tifa didn't look surprised. "Well, if you need a place to stay while you look for a way up there, Cloud and I have a small villa in Costa Del Sol that we haven't used in..."  
  
Elira felt like she could kiss the other woman. "Oh, Tifa! You don't know how much that would help! Vincent and I were just trying to figure out where we were going to stay. The only thing from Costa Del Sol to the Northern Continent is a monthly barge, and we're running out of gil. Thank you so much!"  
  
Tifa looked startled by the outburst. "Oh, well, I'm glad I could help..."  
  
Impulsively, Elira squeezed the woman's hand before dashing off to tell Vincent the news. The memory of the look on his face, however, was like a cold slap of water and she slowed her pace as she entered the hallway. Another of her failings, she thought miserably to herself. Her inability sometimes to keep her feet away from her mouth.  
  
Vincent was still in the room. At the doorway, she took a breath before stepping in. "I've got the tickets," she told him, and then she reached into her pocket. "And here's the change." To avoid any unnecessary discomfort, she placed it on the bed for him to pick up.  
  
He nodded his thanks and put the gil away. When he met her eyes a moment later, she couldn't tell what he was feeling. She gave a hesitant smile. "I've got some good news. Tifa and Cloud have a villa in Costa Del Sol we can stay in for as long as we need to."  
  
Vincent's eyes seemed to show a kind of relieved pleasure for a moment, but it faded. "That's good to hear," he said simply.  
  
Elira fought the urge to chew her lip and she reached down for her things. "Well, I'm going to..." She fumbled for an excuse to leave. "...go eat something. The ferry leaves in about three and a half hours." She slipped the pack and water bottle over her body and walked toward the door. After a few steps, however, she remembered the ticket and slowed to a stop. With a sigh, she pulled it out of her pocket and turned back to him. "This one's yours," she said.  
  
He stood from the bed to take it from her. As he reached out his hand, Elira saw him hesitate a second as if debating something, but then he just pulled the paper from her fingers. Elira couldn't stop herself from glancing up into his face. His expression seemed a little uncertain and she wondered if he was looking for a way to bridge the gap she'd unintentionally created between them. She pursed her lips, and then blurted out, "Vincent, I'm sorry."  
  
Vincent gave a small sigh and closed his eyes. After a second, he shook his head. "Don't apologize, Elira. None of this is your fault."  
  
Elira felt a kind of relief that he hadn't clammed up again, and then was surprised by an undeniable urge to giggle. If she thought about it, it was actually a pretty funny idea, chaining him to the bed. Ultimately, her body betrayed her and she gave an abrupt, stilted chuckle, and then another. "God, I'm sorry. This isn't funny." She put a hand to her lips to try and stop herself.  
  
When she met his eyes again, there was a kind of unwilling amusement there and his lips were fighting a losing battle against a smile. That only served to spur her on and, finally defeated, she began to laugh with an unbridled freedom she hadn't known in awhile. And, as if her loss of control was contagious, Vincent suddenly dropped his head with a small, breathless laugh of his own. Hastily, he closed his eyes and followed her example with a hand to his mouth.  
  
Elira stared at him in amazement, still laughing. "Oh my god, you laughed!" she told him. "And you're blushing!"  
  
He quickly turned his back to her and she saw his shoulders shudder once with suppressed mirth before he took a deep breath, trying to regain his omnipresent control. "Go get something to eat," he told her in a tight, dry voice.  
  
This only made her laugh harder, but she did as he said and stumbled out of the room.  
  
***  
  
The ferry was huge, easily the largest boat Elira had ever seen, and she had seen a few as a child growing up on the edge of the ocean. It took her a full ten minutes just to walk from prow to stern, and she got lost twice while looking for her room. Vincent had wandered off previously to find his own quarters, and she found that she was worrying less about him now that he had his own supply of tranquilizer darts. Feeling strangely carefree, she dropped her things off and, after seeing Vincent settled with a book in the cabin next to hers, went to continue her exploration of the massive vessel.  
  
It was fascinating to watch the water as it parted for the hull, licking upward with blue-green tongues as if to taste the man-made invention. She walked along the railing, doing what she could to avoid bumping into other passengers, until she found a spot where she could look at the ocean in relative peace. The air that brushed her face was salty and fresh, and she suddenly felt that nineteen hours wouldn't be nearly long enough. This was so invigorating and she imagined that every moment here was cleansing her of another day she'd spent stifled in the city.  
  
There were so many people walking and chatting around her that she almost didn't notice it when a man came up to lean on the railing only a foot or so away from her. He was maybe a couple of inches taller than herself and of a medium build, with sand-coloured hair, pleasant, friendly features, and glasses. He was smiling a little as he looked out on the ocean. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said to her without turning his head.  
  
Elira was surprised that he'd addressed her, a complete stranger. "Yes," she answered. "Very beautiful."  
  
He turned to look at her and she noticed that his eyes were green. "Is this your first time on the ferry?"  
  
"Oh, yes." She nodded. "I'm from Neo-Midgar, so I don't get up here that often."  
  
"Ah." He smiled and the way it lit up his entire face made her smile, too. "I'm just coming from the city, too, heading home to Costa Del Sol. My name's Leo Hayden." He stood from the railing and held out his hand.  
  
There was something about him, an openness, that put her immediately at ease. She shook his hand. "I'm Elira Maddison, it's nice to meet you."  
  
"Likewise." He crossed his arms on the railing and put his body at ease. "So, Neo-Midgar," he commented. "It's a big place, lots of opportunities. What do you do there?"  
  
Elira shrugged, and felt momentarily flustered. He glanced at her and seemed to realize her discomfort. With an apologetic grin, he asked, "Is there a story involved here?"  
  
She gave a small laugh. "Maybe. I'm kind of between jobs."  
  
"The perfect time to be on a ferry to somewhere else," he observed. "Leaving what's behind you for something completely new."  
  
She thought it was an apt statement. A breeze caught her curls and sent a couple across her face. With a quick shake of her head, she pushed them away. When she glanced back at the man, Leo, she realized that he was looking at her. A slow smile crossed his face. "Sorry to be staring," he told her after a moment. "You remind me of a painting I saw once, standing here at the railing and looking out at the ocean. I think the woman in it had red, curly hair." He chuckled a little self-consciously. "And if I'm creeping you out, you can just say so. I won't be offended. I get it a lot."  
  
Elira raised her eyebrows. "Oh, no, that's fine. You're not creeping me out." She returned his chuckle. "Maybe I don't mind the company. I didn't come over here to be alone, exactly. I just wanted to get away from the press of people."  
  
He smiled again and then pushed at his glasses with a thumb. "So, what can I tell you about Costa Del Sol? It's beautiful, too, in its own way. A little warm and overrun with commercialism, but still beautiful. What's waiting for you there? A career?" He glanced at her. "A husband?"  
  
Was he flirting with her? Elira was momentarily surprised that it wasn't making her uncomfortable. She held up her left hand to show him that her ring finger was bare. "No husband, no career. A friend and I are just passing through, actually."  
  
"Oh." He looked a little disappointed. "Then I suppose I should ask if you want to join me for a coffee now, before I never see you again."  
  
Elira chuckled in a little embarrassment. "You're not subtle, are you?"  
  
He grinned and shook his head. "Subtlety is for predators and cowards, and I'm not either one. I think you're a very pretty woman, and a few minutes of your company would make my day."  
  
Elira was sure she was blushing, but he was tactful enough not to tease her about it. She shrugged, smiling. "Okay, I'll go for a coffee with you. Though I might be in Costa Del Sol for a little while before my friend and I head out. We might see each other again."  
  
His grin returned. "That would be nice." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a card. "I own a bookstore. There's the address and the number in case you want to find me after we dock. And if you need a job or anything..." He gave an innocent little shrug. "I just happen to be looking for some help."  
  
Elira smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."  
  
"All right." He moved from the railing with an easy grace and gestured at the deck. "Shall we? As long as your friend won't miss you?"  
  
"Oh, no." Elira shrugged. "He's reading. He's probably fine for hours."  
  
"Mm." Leo clicked his tongue a little as they walked. "So your friend is a man."  
  
"Yes, he's a man. Does that bother you?"  
  
"No, no," Leo replied quickly. "I just want to make sure I'm not stepping on anyone's toes. The idea of having the stuffing beaten out of me by a jealous boyfriend doesn't appeal to me, somehow."  
  
Elira chuckled. "No, you're safe from that, though he is a little protective. But as long as you don't hurt me..." She cast him a sly glance. "...I'm sure you'll be fine."  
  
He raised his hands, laughing. "I'll consider myself duly warned."  
  
The cafeteria of the ferry was fairly busy, but they found a table together. And Leo listened as she told him about the shop she'd left behind, laughing fondly at her description of Benita. When she left whole sections of her life out, and made no excuses for her current journey, he didn't press. He seemed content just to hear whatever she had to say and his manner relaxed her.  
  
His own life had started in Cosmo Canyon, and his description of the place and some of its inhabitants made her yearn to see it. An education there had encouraged him to become something of a historian, and now he wrote articles for culture magazines. Running a bookstore, he told her, was just something to pay the bills, though it also gave him an excuse to look for books he wanted.  
  
His conversation was informal and engaging, and Elira became more and more pleased with him as time went along. At the end of two hours, when they were long done their coffee and it was moving around to dinner time, she though she might actually try to find him in Costa Del Sol.  
  
Vincent was still reading when she arrived at his room, though she guessed that he'd heard her footsteps from down the hallway because he was glancing toward the door when she peered in. "Hi."  
  
He nodded his usual greeting. "Where have you been?" It was a quiet question without emphasis, but she got the impression her long absence had made him a little concerned.  
  
She shrugged. "Just looking around, you know." She wasn't sure what compelled her not to mention Leo. A part of her mind told her it wasn't a very important detail and that he probably wouldn't be interested. "This is a huge boat."  
  
"Have you eaten?"  
  
She shook her head. "No, but I'm on my way now. I just wanted to check up on you, I guess. You doing all right?"  
  
"I'm fine," he told her, turning back to his book. "You don't need to worry."  
  
Seeing him after spending the afternoon with Leo was like coming into a cool, dark room after being in the sun. Vincent was quiet, intense, and reserved where Leo was talkative and candid. She couldn't help a momentary comparison. "All right. Well, I'll be back later."  
  
Leo had asked her to eat with him and she'd accepted. Vincent nodded again before she left the doorway. 


	21. Arrival and Departure

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty: Arrival and Departure  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Elira slept like a baby that night, lulled by the gentle movement of the ship and the low, comfortable rumbling of the engines. When she woke in the early morning, the sky through the porthole window was dark, though tinted at the horizon with the edges of sunrise. Not really in a hurry to go anywhere, she leaned against the wall and watched as the stars disappeared one by one, swallowed up in the soft light of dawn.  
  
It was nice, she decided, not to have to rush around. There was no day of work ahead, no furnace to heat; and moreover, in light of recent undertakings, no need to get ready for hours of traveling on foot. Even concerns about what they would do when they reached the Northern Continent were now muted. This was limbo; this was nice. And, despite her desire to reach their destination and see Vincent freed from Chaos, a part of Elira was glad for the enforced period of rest. Her father had once asked her what it would take to make her take a break from her busy life.  
  
Well, she now had her answer: a darkly-attractive reticent, a demon, and a very big ferry.  
  
She ran her finger along the rounded edge of the window and wondered indulgently what it would be like to live with Vincent in Costa Del Sol. Without the built-in conversation piece the stages of this journey had become, what would they talk about? Would they go on long walks in the warm evenings, along the beach? Well, maybe not the beach, she amended with a smile. There were still so many things she didn't know about him, and so many things she'd never told him about herself. Maybe they'd have the time to get to know each other a little better.  
  
It made her smile again when she remembered the sudden laugh he'd given, -- and just as quickly contained -- the final break to the uncomfortable sexual tension they'd managed, until that point, to avoid both verbally and physically for the most part. And it had surprised her to discover at that moment how much his friendship -- his somewhat clandestine fondness for her and the attentive importance he seemed to place in her conversation -- had come to mean to her; more than 'just because she didn't want to be alone.' The return of the wall over his emotions had turned her regret into an almost tangibly painful thing, and the breaking down of that barrier had caused such relief...  
  
She promised him silently that she would be more careful about what she said and did from now on. The time they spent in Costa Del Sol would be strictly friendship, without any discomfort, and even *he* would enjoy himself.  
  
A little later, she went to Vincent's room. After about thirty seconds of waiting in vain for an answer, though, she began to wonder if he'd had to tranquilize himself during the night. If that was the case, she thought to herself, should she look for someone with a key? Undecided, she began to chew on her lip. Eventually, though, she resolved to do a search around the ferry first. Vincent could simply have left his room, and she didn't want to bother the ship's staff unnecessarily.  
  
The deck was dim with the gray-blue light of dawn and the air was crisp and nippy as it came off of the water. Elira breathed it in as she walked; the smell of the ocean always seemed different before the sun came up. There were few other people out: some older men who might have been sailors in their time, a young couple huddled together by the railing, and someone who looked a little sick to his stomach. But no Vincent. An ornate iron staircase led her to the first level of the deck.  
  
This part of the ferry was all but deserted. There were a few plastic reclining chairs and the barely visible lines of a gameboard that had been painted on the deck in front of the wheelhouse, but the only person in sight was the steersman behind the glass. Elira paused for a moment to think. Where else would he go? The question became academic, however, when a silent figure dressed in black walked suddenly into view from around the wheelhouse.  
  
He looked troubled and lost in thought. It didn't appear that he had noticed her presence, so she watched him pace for a few seconds before calling his name. He then stopped in mid-stride and glanced up sharply as if he hadn't recognized her voice. After a moment, though, some of the tension seemed to drain out of him.  
  
Elira approached slowly, giving him time to object. Maybe he wanted to be alone. But he made no move to stop her as she neared and she couldn't read anything from his eyes. In fact he didn't move at all until she arrived in front of him, and then he turned to the railing to stare out over the water. Elira slipped up beside him. "How are you feeling?"  
  
It was a moment before he gave a quiet sigh of tightly-reigned irritation. "Chaos has been in my mind for hours," he told her. There was an unmistakable vein of iron in his voice and she wondered if, more than simply telling her, he was also speaking to accuse the demon.  
  
Elira pursed her lips in commiseration, expecting that the rooms were not built for pacing. "Has it tried to make you transform?"  
  
Vincent shook his head slowly, still gazing out at the ocean. And looking at him, Elira suddenly realized how weary he seemed; his eyes, usually so sharp and aware, were dull and unfocused as he stared blindly at the horizon; his shoulders were slouched; even his dark hair seemed to hang lank and limp. Her attention was drawn downward, however, as he raised his gloved hand to show her the dart he clutched in his fingers. She could suddenly imagine him walking around the ship with the needle out of sight against his skin, just daring the demon to try something. She wanted to offer him some kind of comfort and had to resist the urge to touch his arm. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."  
  
Vincent looked at her out of the corner of his eye and she was almost surprised to see his mouth quirk, though the gesture faded almost immediately. "Simply having a voice outside of my head helps."  
  
Elira smiled a little and put her hands out to grip the railing. It was cool and damp with the almost unnoticeable mist off the water. "Now I wish I had something to talk about," she told him lightly.  
  
There were a few beats of silence and Elira stared out with him at the tiny breakers on the surface of the ocean as they crested and fell at the compulsion of the wind. Peripherally, though, she was watching Vincent for any outwards signs of the demon's presence. Was it threatening him; pleading with him; bargaining with him? But Vincent gave no indication. She marveled at the depth of his control.  
  
Though there were times, she amended a moment later, when she was sure there were emotions trembling just below the surface. Like the ocean, she thought suddenly. Calm and composed outwardly, but the weighty depth also harbored so much life -- another world very few ever discovered.  
  
And here she was, making waves and uncovering the mysteries of the deep. Hurricane Elira. The title made her turn her head as a chuckle threatened.  
  
Vincent shifted his weight from one leg to the other and his unusual display of restlessness brought her back to the moment. Resolutely, she cleared her throat. Maybe he just needed to be distracted for a little while. "I might have a job set up in Costa Del Sol," she told him.  
  
Vincent paused a moment before turning to her. "Since we boarded the ferry?"  
  
She nodded a little. It was probably better to tell him now rather than bring it up later as if she'd just remembered. "I met someone yesterday who owns a bookstore. He said he might need the help."  
  
There was another pause before he replied, "Without having to pay rent, you won't need to work."  
  
"I know," she answered quickly, "but it would give me something to do." Plus, it would probably be better in the long run if they weren't together every minute. Even now, the urges to touch him, to let her eyes linger a little longer than was comfortable, were sometimes hard to overpower.  
  
"How did you meet this person?"  
  
It wasn't often that he was the one asking her questions, but Elira put it down to his desire to drown out Chaos. "He actually approached me yesterday while I was wandering around. He said..." She chuckled a little to herself. "He said I looked like a painting, staring out at the water."  
  
When she glanced back, Vincent had an eyebrow raised. She chuckled again, glad to see a hint that his humour was returning. "Yeah, I know, it's the corniest line I've ever heard, too."  
  
Vincent's lips twitched and he looked away. "The subtle art of flirting," he said, and there was no mistaking the dry tone of his voice.  
  
Elira shrugged, smiling. "Oh, he wasn't subtle about it at all. He invited me for coffee, and then for supper." She shook her head, smiling in remembered amusement.  
  
Vincent's expression, however, had sobered again and there was something guarded in his eyes. Elira's smile faded and she began to question whether the idea of her with another man *would* make him jealous. It wouldn't, would it? Not when he was upset by his own attraction to her. Maybe he was just worried about her dedication to the journey. She was quick to assure him, "But it didn't mean anything, of course. I'm here to go with you to the Northern Continent, not to set myself up with dates."  
  
Vincent didn't reply and, after a pause, he simply turned away again. Elira felt a twinge of frustration. Sometimes he was so hard to read. She fidgeted for a moment and then cleared her throat. "Well, I hope I've helped some. Is Chaos still there?"  
  
He shook his head slightly. "He tires of bothering me when I'm not paying attention to him."  
  
"Well, that's good at least." She smiled a little, though he wasn't looking at her. "I think I'm going to go get some breakfast before we dock."  
  
Vincent nodded without turning his head. His burdened silence made Elira want to stay and ask what was troubling him, though she knew already that he wouldn't answer. After a pause, she left his side for the cafeteria.  
  
***  
  
She didn't see Leo again before they arrived at Costa Del Sol, though she admitted to herself that she wasn't exactly looking for him. Yesterday she hadn't minded the company, but today she felt like being on her own for a bit. So, after she'd eaten and had a coffee, she found another quiet spot by the railing where she could watch the approach of land.  
  
Vincent was in his room again when she came to get her things, and it seemed most of the other passengers had already vacated. As she glanced around to make certain she had everything, he appeared in the doorway with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. She smiled at him briefly, doing one last pass with her eyes before stepping out the door and being sure to leave her key. No more than a dozen steps down the hallway, however, Vincent stopped walking. Elira turned, wondering if he'd forgotten something. The encompassing red of his eyes and his tight expression of pain on his face made her think otherwise.  
  
"Not now..." she heard him mutter through his teeth.  
  
She went hastily to his side. "Vincent, where are the darts?"  
  
He was trembling and his breaths were no more than intermittent gasps as he reached his hand into a pocket. He seemed to have trouble grabbing one of the packages, and then his fingers were shaking when he tried to open it. Without asking permission, Elira moved to help him. In a moment, she had a dart in her hand. But suddenly, Vincent was stumbling away from her and doubling up with a muffled exclamation. Elira stared in alarm as his teeth and ears began to morph. He swallowed another cry of pain.  
  
"Vincent!" She hurried to his side once more and prepared to use the dart in his shoulder.  
  
But he was shaking his head a little. "How will you...carry me off?" He closed his eyes and turned away from her as he gave another shuddering groan.  
  
"Let me worry about that," she told him firmly. "You're not exactly in any shape to carry yourself off." And then she injected the sedative before he could protest again. It wasn't long before he was sagging toward the wall and Elira quickly grabbed him as he slipped downward, doing her best to control the fall. By the time he reached the floor, he was already unconscious and the changes had receded.  
  
What advantage would the demon have seen in making him transform now? she wondered. Did it think it had a chance because they weren't expecting it? Or was it simply trying to make things as difficult as possible? She supposed it didn't really matter. Right now, what mattered was finding a way to get Vincent off of the ferry.  
  
It took her what felt like a long time to pull him to his feet and then push him back against the wall for support. Then, holding him there with her own body, she slipped out of her pack and moved to drape him over her shoulders, letting his arms dangle in front of her. The skin of his cheek skimmed her own and tendrils of his hair tickled her neck. Elira tried to ignore the stirrings of her body at his proximity and sighed, allowing herself a moment to recognize how ridiculous they probably looked. Then, after a moment, she gripped his forearms tightly, both flesh and metal, and began to walk. His boots skidded along the floor behind her.  
  
A couple of people came down the hallway as she struggled, but neither of them offered to help her and she decided not to impose; if they had been members of the staff, she might not have felt so awkward about asking, but as it was she kept her mouth shut.  
  
She was just trying to figure out how to maneuver herself and Vincent safely up the staircase at the end of the hall when the sound of someone running toward her made her try to look over her shoulder. "Hey! Hey, do you need some help?"  
  
Elira recognized the voice at once and sighed in relief. "Leo! Thank God!" She awkwardly turned to look at him.  
  
"Elira? Is that you?" He stepped up beside her and glanced at Vincent. "What happened? Is this...is this your friend?"  
  
Elira nodded and then chuckled a little, still somewhat winded. "Yes, this is Vincent. Not really a proper meeting, but..."  
  
"Here, give me one of his arms." They managed to shift Vincent over until he was being held up between them. Elira hefted him carefully and, looking for something to hold onto, took his gloved right hand in her own. Then, moving at a slow, sideways pace, they started up the stairs.  
  
It wasn't until they were walking along the outer deck, and getting a number of curious stares from passengers and staff alike, that Leo asked again, "Is he all right? What happened to him?"  
  
"Oh." Elira licked her lips. "I...I don't know if I should tell you. It also involves a story, and it's not my story to tell."  
  
"No, I understand." They made their way to the ramp leading to the dock and people made way for them. When they finally stepped onto the dock, Leo glanced at her over Vincent's bowed head and asked, "So where are we going?"  
  
Elira shrugged a little with a small, self-reproaching laugh. "Um, I'm not sure. It's a villa. Just a second, I think I've got the address in one of my pockets." They stopped for a minute as she looked, and eventually she came up with it. Reaching carefully around Vincent, she handed him the paper. "Maybe you know where this is."  
  
Leo stared at the address for a moment before giving a nod. "It's not that far from here. This way." They walked to the edge of the road and waited. Elira was about to ask what they were waiting for when a yellow car skidded around a corner and Leo waved it over. He smiled as it pulled up beside them. "There are more taxi cabs in Costa Del Sol than mosquitoes," he told her. "The joke is that if you stand at a corner long enough you'll get a swarm of them."  
  
"Mosquitoes?"  
  
Leo gave a startled laugh. "No. Cabs." And then he gazed at her with a kind of charmed amusement. Blushing again under his scrutiny, Elira glanced away.  
  
The taxi dropped them off in front of a moderately-sized villa built of smooth, white stone and with a red-shingled roof that had been made to look like it was made of bamboo. Without hesitating, Leo paid the fare and then helped her to take Vincent inside.  
  
There was a bedroom off to the left when they entered. Once they'd placed Vincent on the bed, Elira took the time to remove his boots and coat. Leo watched her wordlessly and she couldn't help but wonder if he was speculating on her precise relationship with her 'friend'.  
  
When she'd arranged Vincent comfortably and thrown a quilt she'd found over him, she turned back to Leo. "Thanks so much for your help. Would you like some tea? If I can find some?"  
  
***  
  
  
  
It was the second time Vincent had awakened in an unfamiliar place, and he couldn't say he liked the feeling. But at least this time he knew he hadn't harmed Elira, and his lack of boots and coat told him she was somewhere nearby. Cautiously, he slid to the edge of the bed and sat there for a good couple of minutes before trying to stand. How in the world had she managed to get him here?  
  
It couldn't be any later than the early afternoon, he recognized, glancing out of a window. How many hours had he been unconscious? He counted them mentally and then frowned, trying to remember how long he'd been out under the darts the first time in her apartment. It had been longer than this, hadn't it? Was it possible that the sedative was becoming less effective with use? He thought about the ramifications of this for a few moments before pushing it aside. It would do no good to worry about it right now, especially when he didn't have any solid evidence besides a feeling.  
  
The door had been left ajar. He stepped toward it slowly, still a little dizzy, and reached for the knob. The sound of muted conversation, however, stopped him where he was. Elira's voice and...a man's? Frowning again, he listened in silence.  
  
"No, he told me that the barge went up early last week, so the next one isn't going to be ready until next month sometime."  
  
A sigh from Elira. "All right. I guess we'll just have to wait, then."  
  
The man began to chuckle. "Oh, don't be so down-hearted, Elira. Spending a few weeks in a resort in a beautiful villa like this one isn't the 'horror' everyone says it is."  
  
Elira laughed quietly. "I guess you're right. Well, thanks for checking that out for me, Leo, and for keeping me company. I'll see you later?"  
  
"I hope so." There was the sound of shifting clothing and a silence. Following a sudden urge, Vincent moved to look through the small space left by the open door.  
  
Beyond the door was a front room, not excessively lavish, but liberally perforated with windows so that the afternoon sun could shine in. Standing on a rug not far away stood Elira and the man. He was perhaps a few inches taller than her with dirty blond hair and glasses. Was this the man from the ferry?  
  
He was smiling and Elira's own lips were turned up softly. And he was holding one of her hands, massaging it gently with his fingers.  
  
Vincent's eyes narrowed despite himself. He didn't like this man. He didn't know him, he had no reason to suspect that he had any wrong intentions toward Elira. But he didn't like him. He had the irrational desire to throw him out of the house and make sure he never returned.  
  
He was surprised when he realized that some part of him was unobtrusively comparing himself with the man: tanned and toned from living in Costa Del Sol against his pale, emaciated body; witty and supportive to his reclusive silence; normal and healthy in contrast to his red eyes, metal claw, and demon-possessed soul. But he'd known it all along. He was a monster. Being with Elira had made him able to forget sometimes, but it didn't change the truth. He sighed quietly and moved from the doorway.  
  
Hojo had made it impossible to forget forever. Even if he managed to cover up almost every inch of ashen skin, even if he never looked in a mirror again to see his red eyes, even if he ignored the heavy prosthetic, the truth remained. He was an experiment, a creation. In fact, he had given up his own humanity the day he'd joined the Turks...  
  
How Elira could see the man in him was still a mystery. How she could still be attracted to him...  
  
Though, perhaps Leo could cure her of her misplaced fascination with him, he mused, trying to deny the way this thought upset him. It would be better that way, after all. It couldn't help but be better for both of them if she never wanted to touch him again, never wanted to kiss him or worm her way into his arms. It would be safer for her...  
  
He shook himself as he heard the front door open and then close. The sound of Elira's footsteps followed, but instead of coming to check on him she went into another room and shut the door. Perhaps she was thinking as he had been, that he would be out for awhile longer. In a few minutes, he could hear the muffled sound of a shower running.  
  
This was the perfect time. Quickly, he gathered his things and slipped back into his coat and boots. Her pack was in the hall. Hastily, he rifled through it for her supply of darts. And then he walked to the door.  
  
But before he could leave, something pulled him back. It wasn't fair to leave like this without at least a few words. With a sigh, he hunted around for a pen and a piece of paper.  
  
It had been awhile since he'd had to write anything. He was surprised at how out of practice he was. A few moments' time, however, allowed him to put down what needed to be said, and then he left the note on the bed.  
  
'Please, forgive me, Elira. And try to understand...'  
  
***  
  
Elira finished drying her hair and slipped back into her clothing. No matter how much she liked the smell of the sea, it felt good to be clean again. She expected Vincent would want a shower, too, though he was probably still asleep. Leo had stayed for lunch and had helped her inspect the house, but she didn't imagine it was very late in the afternoon. She decided to check on Vincent anyway. He'd never had any episodes under the tranquilizers, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible.  
  
There was no sound coming from the room and the door was ajar, just as she'd left it. Moving quietly, she pushed it open and peered in.  
  
The bed was empty. Confused, Elira stepped in and glanced around. Where were his things? His coat, his boots? A piece of paper on the bed attracted her attention. Feeling a growing sense of dread, she went to pick it up. Her hand began to shake as she read it:  
  
'Back in three weeks. I'm sorry.'  
  
Her breathing seemed loud in the empty villa. He'd...left? He'd *left*? He probably hoped to protect her this way, she thought sourly. But it hurt that he hadn't discussed it with her, or even warned her...  
  
She choked on a sob before she realized that she was crying. Angrily, she wiped the tears away, but others replaced them.  
  
"Damn you!" Swiftly, she crumpled the paper up in her fist and threw it against the wall. He was just going to leave her alone here for three weeks? Without so much as a good-bye? "Bastard!" Well, maybe she would just leave, too! Maybe she would just go back to her father's! Or go home!  
  
Her pack was in the hall. When she went to grab it up, she discovered that it had been opened. Frowning, she searched through it and couldn't find the darts. He'd taken them. But...  
  
Who would make him comfortable while he slept? Who would distract him when the demon became too much?  
  
Elira shook her head. No one would, and it was his own choice! She hadn't made him leave! Furiously, she tied her pack and slung it over her shoulder. He was going to regret what he'd done.  
  
Halfway into her shoes, however, she knew she couldn't do it. She couldn't leave him. And he probably knew it, too. She felt her face bubble up with tears again. "Bastard," she whispered, and then she dropped into a crouching position and cried for a long time into her knees. 


	22. Absence

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty-One: Absence  
  
by thelittletree  
  
It wasn't until later that Elira discovered the gil Vincent had left, almost as an afterthought, on an endtable by the door. By the looks of it, she guessed it was all he'd had. One last thought for her well-being before his fear had run him out of the villa. And the gesture managed to pacify a little of her anger, though she remained nowhere close to forgiving him. That he wouldn't earn without a sacrifice, preferably of his dignity. And that done on his knees.  
  
The first two days were miserable as she wavered between seething rage and grudging worry, wanting him to return so she could alternately scream at him and hold him to her until she was sure he'd never leave like that again. The nights were the hardest, when she realized how truly alone she was in a strange bed in an unfamiliar house. It wasn't until the third day that she even ventured out to get some groceries to add to the supply of non-perishables in the pantry, and then part of her insisted on looking around as if she would spot him on the street. Though she knew already that unless he wanted to be found she would never find him.  
  
It bothered her the first time she wondered if she was falling in love with Vincent.  
  
He didn't want that kind of relationship, though, she argued with herself immediately. And he was stubborn. And completely focused on himself. And incredibly closed-mouthed about so many things. These weren't traits she would look for in someone, were they? If she was looking at all.  
  
So, maybe she found him attractive. Maybe she had a little of what she would've called a 'crush' in her younger years. But that wasn't love.  
  
And maybe she liked to see him smile. Maybe she liked to joke with him and tease him when he was in the mood. Maybe she could talk to him, and maybe she wanted to know more about him; maybe she wanted to help him find a way out of his pain. Maybe she was worried about him, and maybe she even missed him. It didn't mean she was in love, did it?  
  
Nuh-uh. No way. She'd been in love with Eagan, and Eagan had been an entirely different person from Vincent. Didn't it stand to reason that she'd fall for someone with Eagan's same qualities?  
  
Though Eagan had never made love to her quite like that before. Like there was a desperate, consuming fire in him, a fire she had ignited...  
  
No, she told herself. Lust and love were very different. And she wasn't in love. To fall for Vincent would be the very worst thing she could do, because he wanted nothing to do with her in a romantic sense. It was just asking for heartache.  
  
So, she wasn't in love with him. And she didn't want to be.  
  
The fourth day, she finally called Leo to ask if his job offer still stood. Not an hour later, she was arriving at his shop in some of Tifa's old summer-wear, and it was so good to see a friendly, familiar face. He set her to work putting away books he'd had shipped from Cosmo Canyon; eight boxes in all, and all meant for different sections. It wasn't gun-forging, but the tidy side of her that appreciated order was pleased with the job and she fell to it, grateful for the distraction.  
  
The books were covered in dust, as if Leo had had them sitting out this way for months. Undaunted, she began a system. First she would brush away what dust she could, making sure to sneeze away from the boxes, and then she would make a thorough check for stray spiders before sorting the books into piles. Then, balancing herself carefully, she would get to her feet with a pile in her arms and walk between the narrow shelves to put them away. It was blessedly mindless work and soon she was even humming a little to herself.  
  
She wasn't sure what time it was when she nearly bumped into Leo at the end of a shelf. With a start, she turned, and he chuckled at her expression. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
"Oh." She gave a laughing sigh. "That's all right, I should pay more attention."  
  
He was smiling softly and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "No, don't. I think I like to watch you when you're off in your own world. Looking at the ocean, or working. You seem like the type of person who throws themselves wholeheartedly into something. I really like that."  
  
"Oh," she said again, and she cursed inwardly when she realized she was blushing again. She didn't think she'd ever blushed this often in her life. But, then again, she didn't think she'd ever been given this many compliments before.  
  
Leo was still watching her, and his smile was growing. He leaned casually against the shelf beside him. "You're shy about accepting flattery, aren't you?"  
  
"I don't know," she muttered with a shrug. "I guess I'm not used to it."  
  
"That kind of surprises me." He shifted his weight back until he was standing once again. "Well, you've been working pretty hard, and it's nearly lunch time. Do you want to go get something to eat with me? I know a nice place around the corner."  
  
She slipped her curls behind her ears and pursed her lips. "Well, okay. But, Leo, I should probably explain something..."  
  
He lifted a hand. "It's just lunch. Really. I know you have to leave in a couple of weeks."  
  
She felt herself start to relax. He certainly wasn't Terry. She realized then that she was smiling, and that it must've looked grateful. Leo chuckled. "Something tells me your love-life has always been stressful and full of guilt," he commented astutely.  
  
Her smile turned a little rueful. "You could certainly say that," she admitted. "Maybe it's a little bit of a relief not to feel like you expect something of me." 'Or, as in Vincent's case,' she thought morosely, 'a relief not to feel that he expects me *not* to do some things.'  
  
"I expect you to say what you want to say, and to do what you want to do. And if something I say or do makes you uncomfortable, I expect you to say so. Like this." He stepped up beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders. "How do you feel about this?"  
  
From Terry, she would have shrugged it off. From Vincent, it would have been so incongruous as to have sent her into shock. From Leo, it was unassuming and companionable. She smiled. "I feel fine."  
  
"Good. Now, let's lock up and go for lunch."  
  
While they waited at a table for their sandwiches, Leo pulled a book out of a cloth shoulder-bag he'd brought along. "This," he told her, holding the book out, "is one of the things I bought in Neo-Midgar, along with..." He rummaged again. "This."  
  
The second book was larger and heavier than the first, but not nearly as interesting-looking. The first was obviously ancient and titled in Cetra ideograms. "What is this?" she asked, feeling a little awed.  
  
Leo looked a little smug, pleased by her interest. "That is a book of Cetra scriptures," he told her. "It's over a hundred years old, and I had to go to an obscure shop in Odriam to get it. The second is a lexicon for the Cetra language, and it was only published six years ago. One of the members of that group Avalanche was rumoured to have been half-Cetra, and I guess that's what's sparked the recent interest. Magazines can't seem to get enough of them, though there isn't much written about their holy writings. Not many people are willing to do the translation needed for that."  
  
Elira raised her eyebrows. "This is what you're working on now? You're translating their entire scriptures?"  
  
He shrugged one shoulder a little modestly. "Well, over time, yes. It'll probably take me about two years."  
  
Elira handed the books back to him as their food arrived. "I'm impressed," she told him honestly. "I wish I could do something like that."  
  
"Well..." He picked up one half of his sandwich. "I close for the weekends. If you want, I could come get you tomorrow and we could go to my apartment. No strings attached, of course," he added, looking at her over the rims of his glasses in a way that made his meaning very clear, though his smile showed her he was teasing. "Just for some coffee, and I'll show you what I've translated so far. And maybe you can even try your hand at it."  
  
Elira took a bite of her sandwich to give her a moment to think. She felt she could believe 4him when he said he wasn't expecting anything of her, but she still didn't know him that well and something about this felt like it was going a little fast. "Well," she replied eventually, "I don't know. Maybe I could. I...I just..."  
  
Leo suddenly put out a hand and touched her arm to stop her. His eyes were serious. "Is this about your friend, Elira?"  
  
The sudden reminder of Vincent when she'd spent all day expressly trying *not* to think about him made something in her ache suddenly, as if his absence was a wound she'd been ignoring. Following this, however, was a flash of hurt anger that managed to drown out the ache. Without wondering what might've shown on her face, she began to answer, trying to sound composed. "No, it's not about him at all. He's *just* a friend."  
  
Leo pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment. When he next spoke, his tone was frank and solemn. "Elira, I'm sure you know as well as I do that there can be many levels of friendship between a man and a woman, and some are closer to romantic love than others."  
  
Elira tried to meet his gaze, and couldn't. She dropped her eyes to her plate. "I don't know," she whispered, and then she closed her eyes as tears threatened. "God. I don't know if it's just because I'm lonely..."  
  
"Lonely?"  
  
She glanced back at him and wiped hastily at the lone tear that escaped to roll down her cheek. "I'm sorry. This isn't your problem."  
  
The earnest expression on his face nearly made her break down completely. "Elira, I want to help if I can."  
  
She clenched her teeth as her jaw trembled. Damn him for leaving! At least it wasn't as bad as when he'd almost left her for good in Neo-Midgar, but it was still hurtful. "Vincent isn't with me in the villa," she admitted.  
  
Leo frowned a little and sat back. "He's not? Where is he?"  
  
She shrugged and felt the control on her tears shudder again. "He just wrote me a note to say he'd be back for the barge, and then...he left."  
  
Leo looked surprised. "Did he say why?"  
  
Elira sighed, and it felt like a sigh she'd been keeping inside for days. "I know why," she told him quietly. "But that doesn't make it any easier."  
  
Leo didn't say anything for a few moments. Elira rubbed at her eyes and took a breath.  
  
Eventually, Leo moved to pick up his glass of water. After taking a sip, he gave his own sigh and began to speak again. "Elira, I don't know what to tell you. I don't know enough about you or him, and I doubt you really feel like explaining everything right now. Maybe you won't ever feel like explaining. But, despite what you may or may not feel for him, my invitation is completely unconditional. You can come, or you can refuse, and I'll still let you work for me." He gave a small, encouraging half-smile. "I know what it's like to be lonely. The crowd in Costa Del Sol really isn't my style, though I love the town and I'm happy with my life here. I'm just offering some friendship. If you want someone to talk to, or just to hang out with, that's what I'm here for."  
  
Elira stared at him for a moment, and she felt something in her break suddenly. Without warning, the tears started flowing, hot and merciless, from her eyes. She lowered her head to the table. In a moment, Leo got up and then, no more than a minute later, he returned to help her up and lead her out of the cafe with their sandwiches in a paper bag.  
  
The walk back to his bookstore gave her time to compose herself, and once they were inside she burrowed herself into Leo's embrace, comforted by the thought that it wouldn't be misconstrued. Leo's arms came around to hold her and she let the last of her tears escape. After a few moments, she lifted her face to look at him. "I'm sorry, Leo."  
  
He smiled down at her. "Don't be."  
  
She knew her own smile was shaky. "Thank you. I think I would like to come to your place tomorrow. I promise I won't cry."  
  
He laughed at this and she felt the sound reverberate through his chest. "All right. You'll be too busy to cry, anyway. Translating is tough work." He let her go as she withdrew from him and then he gave a small sigh. "I guess the real question is 'Do you feel up to working anymore today?'"  
  
Elira nodded immediately and wiped her face with her hands. "I think I would feel better here than I would alone in that big, empty villa."  
  
Leo's lips seemed touched with a sympathetic smile. "Okay. But no more dusty things; I think you've had your fill of sneezing and watery eyes for the moment. How do you feel about repairing bindings?"  
  
***  
  
'Or do you remember the sssoldier who ssshot you in the ssstomach? That poor boy didn't have a chancssse againssst my clawsss. I can ssstill tassste his blood...'  
  
Vincent didn't reply. He'd long since stopped replying.  
  
There were caves north of Costa Del Sol; nothing spectacular, just some crevices large enough to shelter a man from the eyes of others. And this was where Vincent had taken up temporary residence. It wasn't comfortable, but he didn't need comfort. He didn't *deserve* it either, he told himself. He deserved the guilt and images Chaos' words were forcing into his mind as he sat hunched with his back against a wall of rock, wearily clutching a dart in his hand.  
  
The demon began to cackle out its hissing laughter. 'You want to be disssgusssted, Vincsssent, but I can ssstill feel the bloodlussst in you. You can't deny it.'  
  
His bloodlust. It was something he would always struggle against, he thought. The one thing that still connected him to the demon; the weakness that had always given Chaos power over him.  
  
'And do you remember the boy on the train, Vincsssent? Ahh, it'sss been ssso long sssincssse I've tasssted human blood. You ssshould have let me kill him. Though...' The demon chuckled in pernicious amusement. '...with the way you are continuing, I assssume I will eventually be able to sssatisssfy myssself on the girl.'  
  
Vincent closed his eyes and fought against a wave of anger and fear. Chaos had been baiting him for days, presumably out of a desire for entertainment, and he was tired of the way he always rose to it, whether he wanted to or not. Elira had become a soft spot in his otherwise inscrutable shell and Chaos knew just how to manipulate him.  
  
The demon laughed again. 'Ssshe raisssesss sssuch feeling in you. I don't underssstand why you allow sssuch weaknessss to continue. You have become exposssed in a way your previousss ssself would have abhorred. You know I ssspeak the truth. Why don't you sssimply forget about thisss and give in to your darker ssside again? *I* sssuffer no guilt or ssshame. I live for the thrill of death. Do you think ssshe will accsssept you when ssshe knowsss what you oncssse were? Forget her and let me be your ssstrength again.'  
  
It was the first time Chaos had attempted to 'talk some sense' into him. It was true that, when he was angry, there was always the desire to let vengeance take its course; there was a freedom in letting himself lose control, in losing himself to the hate of the demon. But he had forcefully given up that life years ago, with the end of Avalanche. He had sworn never to kill another living creature, unless it was unavoidable, like the killing of monsters.  
  
And he *had* nearly told Elira in Kalm about his past as a Turk. Her earnest words, that nothing he said would make her think what he thought of himself, had almost made him say it. *Almost*. But this was his burden, even more deeply buried than his history with Lucrecia, and no matter how heavily it sometimes weighed on him she didn't deserve to be oppressed by it, too. She who could, at times, be so free with her emotions; her sincere smiles, her unfettered laughter. He envied her.  
  
And...he envied Leo, who was seeing those smiles and hearing that laughter. Elira... Her personality could charm a rock, he thought with a sigh as he bowed his head.  
  
He'd been back to Costa Del Sol a few times already. Battling Chaos had become a cycle. The demon would spend hours in his mind; it would become frustrated; it would force a transformation; and Vincent would put himself out. And then, when he awoke, the demon would be gone and Vincent would be free to return to the town without worry, at least for a little while. Though he'd only seen Elira outside once, dressed in clothes that left more than a little skin exposed. He told himself that he was just making sure of her safety, but his own memory betrayed him. There had been a time when he had waited in the mansion in Nibelheim, sometimes for hours, for mere glimpses of Lucrecia.  
  
But he thought he could now see the reason behind Chaos' successive attempts to break into the physical world. The tranquilizers were becoming less effective. The time difference between their potency then and now was no longer in doubt, and Vincent expected that he would have to up the dosage soon. He would also have to stop going to Costa Del Sol, since the time Chaos spent weakened after being tranquilized was now shorter, as well.  
  
That meant, of course, that he wouldn't be able to watch over Elira. But that didn't matter. She now had that man, Leo, to protect her.  
  
'I ssshould have guessssed!' The demon broke into an unexpected bout of horrible laughter. 'You're in love with the fool girl! That'sss why you ssstay. You've sssuccumbed to the greatessst folly of man!'  
  
Vincent snapped his eyes open angrily. This was going too far. "What would you know? You don't know what love is!"  
  
'Maybe not, but I know what jealousssy isss...'  
  
Vincent felt suddenly defeated, but he surged to his feet. "Get out of my mind!" he shouted to the rock around him.  
  
'If you insssissst...'  
  
Chaos rarely managed to make more than his ears and teeth start to change before the dart began to take effect. This time was no different. And, if only because he ached for some sort of light in this hell of darkness, Vincent promised himself as he fell into oblivion one more visit to Costa Del Sol...  
  
He would need more tranquilizers soon... 


	23. If She's Happy, Then I Don't Mind

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Two: If She's Happy, Then I Don't Mind  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Leo arrived at the door to the villa around four the next day. Elira was keeping busy knocking spiderwebs out of corners when he rapped on the door, and when she answered she was still covered in them despite her best efforts. Leo grinned when he saw her.  
  
"You look like you've been attacked by a rogue herd of doilies," he observed, chuckling.  
  
Elira followed his gaze and made a face at him as she brushed a hand through her hair. "Excuse me for wanting to live in a clean house." Not to mention the fact that she was desperate for things to do to keep her mind occupied. "If you don't mind waiting, I'm going to have a quick shower."  
  
"Take your time."  
  
Once she had finished cleaning herself up and picking out some more of Tifa's clothing, she left the bedroom to go find Leo. He was standing in the living room with his back to her, but as she entered he turned to face her, holding something in his hands. "What is this thing?" he asked, and his tone was a mix of amusement and alarm as if he wasn't sure what to feel.  
  
It was the tranquilizer gun. She'd spent part of the morning cleaning the pieces and had forgotten to put it away again. Quickly, she walked up to him and pulled it out of his hands, surprised by her own urge to protect it. "Please don't ask me about it, Leo. I don't want to explain."  
  
His expression began to lean more toward alarm. "You mean it's yours?"  
  
She pursed her lips and glanced around, struggling in her disconcertion to find a place to put it. Eventually, she spotted her backpack and just put it back into its straps. "Well, kind of. I took it from someone."  
  
Leo seemed ready with more questions, but then he gave the facial rendition of a shrug. "Okay. Well, I trust that you're not homicidal..."  
  
Elira scoffed and cast him a sidelong glance. "It doesn't use bullets. It's a tranquilizer gun."  
  
"Oh." Leo's brows drew together as if he were trying to understand an image. "That's...an interesting thing for you to have."  
  
She shrugged a little and went to put on a pair of Tifa's sandals, hoping to get the both of them out of the villa and away from the evidence of the delayed journey.  
  
But Leo's curiousity seemed piqued. "Do you know how to use it?"  
  
She turned to him with a sigh as she fiddled with a buckle. "Do you want to be my target?"  
  
He took the hint and didn't mention it again.  
  
His apartment wasn't far from his shop, and it was a tiny, cramped bachelor's pad with ugly yellow walls and warped linoleum floors. The carpet in his living room was gray and uninspiring. Elira tried not to let her nose wrinkle in distaste, but Leo seemed to get something from her expression. He chuckled. "I know it's not much, but it does the job. Do you want anything? A drink?"  
  
"Water would be nice."  
  
"Water it is." He stepped into the kitchen and then called out, "Sit down on the couch if you like. My translating is behind one of those little sliding doors in my coffee table."  
  
The handles to the little doors looked like they had been broken off years ago. When she found his books, she lay them on the table and began to flip through the Cetra scriptures. A folded piece of paper fell out into her lap and she flinched a little in surprise before pinching it between her fingers.  
  
When Leo came into the room a moment later with two glasses of water, she held it up with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Did I lose your place?"  
  
He frowned a little and, putting the glasses down, took the paper from her. It wasn't until he opened it that his face showed recognition. "Oh. No. I forgot where I'd put this. This was the first bit of translating I did on one of the trains in Neo-Midgar."  
  
Elira settled herself and picked up her water. "Will you tell me what it says?"  
  
He sat down beside her and his smile told her he didn't need much encouragement. "All right, this was just from a random page, so it might not make a lot of sense, but..." He cleared his throat. "We served Yenowa as we had served the God of our forefathers. But the Chosen One revealed things to us previously unknown and we became aware, like children waking from dreams. With failing power, Yenowa had those of her people who had not deserted capture and kill the Chosen One. Yenowa had the Chosen One sacrificed to her in the common ritual of sacrifice. His heart was cut out of his chest and burned according to the laws of sacrifice. His followers took his body in secret and buried it where Yenowa would not find it. They did not know, as we know now, that the Chosen One had been chosen to die. According to the prophesies, the God of our forefathers raised him up from the pit once his task had been completed. The God of our forefathers raised him up when the power that moves beneath the earth had been chained. Yenowa's power failed her as the demons power failed them and she was betrayed by her own followers. Her body was left on the Frozen Island. We pray it will never be uncovered."  
  
The words were strange and poetic, and Elira didn't realize until Leo had finished speaking how caught up she'd been in the religion of the Cetra some two thousand years ago. A God, a Chosen One, and Yenowa, who she guessed was the more modern 'Jenova'.  
  
"That's amazing," she said, taking another sip from her glass. "You translated all of that on a train?"  
  
"It was a long train ride. The most amazing part is that these facts about their faith have remained hidden for so long. Did anyone know they were monotheistic, or that Jenova was once hailed as a god?"  
  
"I guess it isn't something they teach in schools."  
  
"It certainly isn't." He swiveled on the couch and rummaged for a moment through an endtable drawer. Finally, he pulled out a pen and a battered-looking clipboard that, although its clip seemed on the point of breaking, held a few sheets of paper. "Here," he said, handing these things to her. "Do you want to try a little?"  
  
"Translating?" Elira put her water down and glanced at the pen and paper as if she didn't know what to do with them. "I don't know. I'm sure I'd be terrible."  
  
"Oh, pshaw." Leo waved her self-depreciation away. "No one's an expert when they start. Here." He took the scripture book and opened it to a particular page. "This is where I left off. You can start here. I'll help you look up the words in the lexicon."  
  
"Well, okay." She looked at the markings on the page and then picked up the lexicon from the table. "So, how do I do this?"  
  
Leo showed her how to find the symbols in the back of the book, and then, when she started to get the hang of it, he backed off to leave her to it. Nearly half an hour passed before she finished three sentences and, finally too uncomfortable to go on, she sat up from where she'd been hunched over her lap and cracked her shoulders. "I can see why this isn't everyone's favourite job," she commented with a chuckle.  
  
Leo smiled. "Well, I'm sure most other translators can afford a proper work space. Now, let's hear what you've got."  
  
She lifted the paper up in front of her nose and ostentatiously cleared her throat. "We did not know then, but know now, the nature of demons. We did not realize that every syllable uttered out of their mouths is a lie from the pit. We did not realize that they fear more than they are feared." She expected that Leo would probably get something different out of it than she had; it was an interesting tidbit and, despite her anger at Vincent, she filed it away for later. Maybe he would get some comfort out of the thought that Chaos was probably terrified by this journey and that everything it said was more than likely to be a lie.  
  
Leo grinned and applauded her. "Very well done. And, as a reward, I think I'll take you out for an early dinner and then a walk along the beach."  
  
Elira felt that instinctive, nervous tightening of her features, but she forced it down. This was Leo, not Terry, and he'd said he wasn't trying to woo her. She made herself smile, and it became easier after a moment. "Thank you, Leo. That would be nice."  
  
He returned her smile and, getting up from the couch, held out his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her lightly to her feet. "I know a restaurant that has a great view of the ocean. Not quite as good as the view from the ferry, but..."  
  
"I'm sure it's beautiful."  
  
And it was. The restaurant had been built on a rise in the land and from the eastern windows there was an unobstructed view of the water stretching out until it met the sky. Occasionally as they ate, she would find herself staring out at the perfect blue-green and it made her feel a little homesick for Kalm. Leo, she noticed a few times, seemed more interested in watching her than in looking at the ocean.  
  
The beach was dotted with people, an array of towels and swim suits and various shades of skin. Leo led her first to the surf to let her dip her toes into the water at her request, and then she slipped out of the sandals so that they could walk in the damp, dark sand that sucked at her feet. It felt a little like home and she stared out over the water as if trying to spot a familiar bit of land on the horizon. And Leo didn't speak as if he was trying to leave her space for her memories.  
  
When she finally stirred after a little while, it was to notice that they were coming to the end of the beach. The land in front of them rose into what might have once been a small hill, one side hollowed out into an overhanging cliff, the earth eroded away by tides she doubted came that high anymore. Leo smiled at her before going to find a path over the rocky shallows. His steps were sure enough to make her suspect he came her fairly often. Trusting her balance to the grip of her toes, she followed him.  
  
He stood under the overhang of rock and grass and took a breath. "This is my usual work space," he told her.  
  
Elira glanced around, squinting in the sunlight. "Doesn't it get windy here?"  
  
"Sometimes." He sat down on a patch of white, loose sand and patted the spot beside him. She took the invitation and joined him.  
  
They spent a couple of minutes just sitting in silence, and it was the first time Elira had seen Leo so quiet and still. He sat with his knees drawn up casually and his arms bowed between them as he fiddled with a small piece of soft driftwood, looking out into the water. She began to wonder if he'd always been lonely, if he ever felt homesick for Cosmo Canyon. For a few moments, without the informal confidence of his conversation, she thought she saw a flicker of a the boy he might have been: small and skinny, maybe a little too intelligent and forthright to be very popular. And then he turned to her with an easy smile and the image was broken.  
  
"This is part of the reason I love living here," Leo told her, throwing the driftwood out into the lapping surf. "If I'd thought about it, I could have brought you later and you could've seen the sunset."  
  
Elira shrugged a little and played with the straps on the sandals. "There will be other sunsets." She frowned to herself when she realized that she was thinking about Vincent, trying to recall a time when he'd had his barriers down enough for her to see the boy he must've been. Never, not really. Maybe a little when he'd smiled that once in MiraCletus before they'd gone to the library. Almost a real smile from the part of him that was lonely and had appreciated her company. And maybe in Kalm with Cloud and Tifa when she'd tried to assure him that he wasn't a monster. He'd looked so vulnerable for a second or two...  
  
It felt like these things had happened so long ago, and she shook her head against the anger and ache she felt, like a tightening in her chest. She didn't want to think about him.  
  
"Elira? Are you all right?"  
  
Leo was watching her again. She sighed a little. "I'm fine. Sorry. I guess I just...I don't know."  
  
"You don't have to explain." He shifted over and she felt his arm come around her shoulders again. After a moment, she leaned in to him slightly, her eyes staring idly at a crease in his pants just beside his knee. It felt good to have someone here, she realized, and then had to clench her teeth. But the rest of the thought finished despite her.  
  
'...even if he's not the one I want to be here...'  
  
Leo's fingers brushed along her upper arm, and she heard him take a breath. "Elira, I feel I should tell you that there was another reason for this trip to the beach. I wanted to tell you something. You can stop me anytime you want to, I won't mind."  
  
She just kept staring at the shadows of the crease, though a part of her was warning her to say 'stop' before he could speak at all.  
  
He cleared his throat. "What I told you before, in the cafe, was true. My friendship is unconditional. I don't expect anything from you. But, I can't deny that I'm attracted to you." He sighed a little. "And I like you a lot. I haven't hit it off with someone like this in a long time." He cleared his throat again and she thought she felt a small tremor in his fingers. "Like I said before, I don't know what there is between you and your friend, and I don't want to impose. I don't want to make you feel, either, that you have some responsibility for this. I simply..." He took another breath. "I don't want to look back on these weeks and kick myself later for not saying anything."  
  
She felt unprepared; she didn't know what to say. She didn't know what she felt. Leo was a good person; he was sensitive and open and kind. He had the courage to bare his feelings at the risk of rejection. She found herself thinking that a woman should count herself glad to have a man like this who cared for them. But she couldn't seem to sort out her thoughts. She frowned and worried at her bottom lip with her teeth.  
  
His fingers had still at some point on the skin of her arm. "Elira?"  
  
She swallowed. "Sorry."  
  
"Don't be sorry."  
  
She closed her eyes. "I don't know what to say. Things are complicated right now. I made a promise to Vincent..."  
  
"I know." He paused for a moment. "But you're not staying on the Northern Continent, are you?"  
  
She gave a small laugh through her nose. "That's not the plan, at least."  
  
"So, maybe you'll come back this way. You don't have to tell me anything right now. Or ever, if you don't want."  
  
"Leo..."  
  
She felt him place a small kiss into her hair. "Shh. You don't have to make excuses, and I don't want you to say anything you don't mean."  
  
They stayed there, huddled quietly together under the overhanging rock, for what might have been an hour. And then Leo walked her back to the villa.  
  
She unlocked the door and turned the knob. Before she could open it more than an inch or so, however, Leo stopped her. "Good night, Elira," he said quietly, and he leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips. She accepted the gesture with a smile. "Good night, Leo. I had a really good time today. Thank you."  
  
His mouth turned up in a half grin. "I'm glad I haven't scared you away with my feelings. See you at work?"  
  
"I'll be there."  
  
He turned and started on his way home, and she thought she could hear him whistling faintly as he made his way down the sidewalk. She watched him for a few moments before giving a sigh and heading into the villa.  
  
It was getting dark outside, and she hadn't left any lights on in the house. She closed the door and, with a small curse, struggled to lock it again. Eventually she managed it, and then she slipped wearily out of the sandals, dropping them to the floor one after the other. There was a lamp in the front room, somewhere to her right if she remembered correctly. She turned from the door to look for it.  
  
And screamed. Shrilly.  
  
Vincent didn't move, even to flinch.  
  
He stood like a shadow in the middle of the front room, his clawed hand and eyes glinting in the fading light. He looked for all the world as if he might have been standing there motionlessly for hours.  
  
"Vincent!" Waves of relief and delight at his return washed over her and she nearly gave into the urge to run to him. But then the hurt anger for having been abandoned was there again, like a remembered slap, and she curbed herself, frowning on the pressure of tears she felt behind her eyes. "It hasn't been three weeks." She wanted to make her tone cold and hard, but even she could hear the tremor in her voice. "What are you doing here?"  
  
He gave no apology, made no attempt at reconciliation. His manner, when he spoke, reminded her of the first month she'd hired him when he'd seemed so aloof and untouchable. "I'm almost out of tranquilizers."  
  
She wanted to know how he'd gotten in. She wanted to ask what this had to do with her, but then she remembered that he'd left her all of his gil. Bothered in ways she didn't want to explore by his indifference to her feelings, she merely nodded and went into the living room where she'd left her pack.  
  
She didn't need the light on to find the right pocket, and in a moment she was pulling out a handful of gil. When she was sure she had enough, she stood and turned.  
  
He had moved into the living room doorway. As she approached he held out his arm, palm up, as if to keep the maximum distance available between them. Elira dumped the coins unceremoniously into his hand. His eyes, when they met her own for a second during the transaction, were dark and unreadable. And then he turned away, ready to leave. Elira told herself the sooner he was gone the better, but as he reached out for the doorknob she found herself jumping forward with a cry of: "Wait!"  
  
She was almost surprised when he waited. Not sure what she'd planned to say, she stepped up to his side. He kept his gaze on the door.  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
He didn't turn his head. She felt like she might snap and hit him. "Vincent! Look at me!"  
  
His eyes slid shut and some of the tension drained out of his rigid frame, as if he'd just suffered a defeat. Slowly, he moved to look at her, but his expression remained as blank as a wall.  
  
He seemed so weary; it fairly radiated from him. His clothes were wrinkled and, though she couldn't tell in the dimness, she guessed they were dirty. His hair looked irreparably tangled. Some of Elira's anger faded as she began to wonder, against her will, if this was possibly as hard on him as it was on her. She wondered where he was staying and imagined it was somewhere unpleasant. The sudden desire to bundle him into her arms and force him to stay was so powerful her arms ached with the strength it took to stop herself.  
  
"Vincent." Something in his expression tightened almost invisibly and she realized that he was steeling himself against her, ready to bolt if she regressed into an emotional outburst. She fought a small, inner battle before swallowing back the last of her rage and clearing her throat. This was all about the journey to the Forgotten City, she reminded herself, not her feelings. And there was something she could tell him that might be of some use. "Leo helped me translate some Cetra scriptures today, and I found out something else about demons. They're very afraid, and they always lie. I don't know if that means anything to you, but maybe if Chaos is still talking to you..." She shrugged and the gesture seemed awkward, as if she'd put too much effort into it.  
  
Vincent stared at her wordlessly for a few seconds before he gave a nod and opened the door. Elira followed him until she stood in the doorway, and then she watched him walk away as the sun began to set. His name arrived on her tongue and she almost shouted it after him, but in the end she just set her teeth. He thought this was the best course of action to protect her and maybe she was wrong to question him.  
  
Though she would have preferred another way that didn't leave anyone abandoned. This was her journey, too; she wanted to be involved. But she recognized that this wasn't the time to try and talk to him about it. He'd retreated from her and would only retreat further if she confronted him right now. Though she didn't think she was likely to get another chance before the three weeks were up.  
  
Vincent disappeared into the shadow of a building. Elira pulled herself back into the house and closed the door.  
  
***  
  
It didn't take long to buy the darts, and then Vincent was on his way north again in the last dregs of sunlight. He didn't want to think. He was tired of thinking, and of trying to repress his thoughts. Elira was upset with him. But it didn't matter. At least she was safe.  
  
She'd been out with Leo, which was why she hadn't been in the villa and he'd had to hunt for an unlocked window to wait for her. At least she wasn't alone. At least someone was looking after her. That was what really mattered.  
  
Leo had kissed her. But it didn't matter.  
  
'...she's mine I want her stay away from her don't touch her...'  
  
He closed his eyes. Maybe she and Leo were in love.  
  
'...stay away from him I want you don't let him touch you don't smile at him or laugh with him or feel for him...'  
  
He clenched his teeth. He hadn't asked for her love. In fact, he'd done everything he could think of to prevent it. He'd asked for her friendship. He'd been pushing the bonds of it, he knew, but although she was angry she was still waiting for him. She'd promised to help him, friend to friend, and so she was. What was his complaint? She was free to fall in love with anyone she wanted...  
  
...himself excluded.  
  
'Perhapsss you ssshould give this up, eh Vincsssent?'  
  
He felt a frustrated despair settle on him. It had been only a couple of hours since he'd awakened and Chaos was already back in his mind. By the end of the three weeks, there would be no time lag; the demon would be strong enough against the tranquilizer to be in his conscious mind at every moment.  
  
But he wouldn't give up. If for no other reason, he wanted to get rid of Chaos so he could finally kill himself.  
  
Assuming he didn't die anyway when the demon was removed; with all of this free time, he'd started wondering lately if the only reason he was still alive was because of Chaos. After seventy years, forty of which he had been possessed, his body wasn't likely to be in the greatest shape.  
  
It didn't matter. He was tired of living, anyway. Life was a series of painful events strung together, one right after another. Not that he didn't deserve it after all he'd done. But if there was no chance for redemption from sin or for happiness, what was the point? If he was just going to be alone again...  
  
If Elira was in love with Leo, the right thing to do would be to let her stay with him. She would be safe and happy, and maybe that would somehow make up for what he'd done to Lucrecia.  
  
And maybe then fate would at least allow him to die... 


	24. Death

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Three: Death...  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Time is such a funny thing. Happy moments always seem to come equipped with wings; unhappy ones wear lead shoes. Long days can be broken down into an eternity of minutes and seconds until lead poisons every breath, every movement. The end result: insanity.  
  
Elira sometimes wondered at her state of mental health.  
  
Every day when she unlocked the door to the villa, she checked the front room, just in case she might find Vincent standing there again. But he never was. Once, while making herself some dinner, a flash of movement startled her into glancing up. Just a curtain puffing out, reaching for her attention in a gust of wind. But she'd almost expected to see him in the doorway, watching her with those red attentive eyes. The memory of his dark, intense presence seemed to shadow her like an unsettled ghost, and sometimes it was enough to make her cry.  
  
She even dreamed of him a couple of times, nightmares. The one she remembered with the most clarity had her standing at the edge of a cliff, helping Vincent up the last few feet of the steep rockface with a rope that hung from her heart. It hurt her to use the rope this way, but the pain was overshadowed by the fear that he would fall. Eventually, he managed to clamber up beside her, but as he gave a final pull on the rope she lost her balance and went tumbling into the void she'd saved him from. And, somehow, she could still see him as she fell, walking away from the edge without a backward glance. She woke up as she called after his retreating form in her sleep.  
  
Leo continued most evenings to take her out for dinner, or the to the beach. Once he even convinced her to go dancing with him. But nothing shook her pursuing phantom free for long.  
  
On the weekends, she ending up spending more time at Leo's apartment than in the villa, and she began to throw herself into the translating because it could occupy her mind for hours. It wasn't her own forge, but it would do. She even began to get good at it. And Leo never mentioned his confession of feelings again, which comforted her. He seemed quite content with her visits as if her company was enough.  
  
And notwithstanding the good things that went on, it was the longest two weeks of her life.  
  
***  
  
The barge arrived the day before its scheduled departure and Elira purposefully walked by the dock on her way to work to watch the loading of supplies. The dockmaster in Kalm had been right: the barge was no more or less than a large floating rectangle made of wood and iron girders, and she could see the tug nearby bobbing and fidgeting impatiently on its anchoring knot, as if it was in a hurry to get on its way. She thought she could relate.  
  
Even in the heat of Costa Del Sol her hands remained cold all day, and her stomach bounced and shivered inside of her as if she was experiencing a belated bout of seasickness. Vincent's impending return was making her strangely nervous -- and she expected it had to do with the fact that she had no idea how she was going to react to him. She acknowledged that a part of her was still angry at him, angry enough to want to tell him exactly what she thought about being left in Costa Del Sol by herself. And she would have, but for another part of her that seemed to want nothing more than his return and was afraid that her anger would only serve to push him away.  
  
And the prospect of being left behind, of possibly never seeing him again, did not appeal to her.  
  
The day went by slowly and she couldn't seem to concentrate on anything. The shipment of books from Cosmo Canyon had necessitated the move of non-fiction to a bigger section of shelves and, by the end of her shift, she felt she had probably fumbled nearly every other book she'd touched. Working beside her, Leo just kept smiling and waving off her apologies; to his credit, he only asked her once what was bothering her. And he also did an admirable job of pretending to take her shrug at face-value.  
  
At five o'clock, when she'd finished putting away her final stack of books, Leo came up from the register where he'd been serving a customer and smiled at her, though she could see that his eyes weren't in the gesture. "Well, I guess it's time for you to go, Elira. Your last shift's over." He pushed idly at his glasses with a thumb and glanced at the books beside her as if inspecting her work.  
  
Elira wiped a trace of lingering dust from her hands and returned his rueful smile. "I know." She glanced down at her hands and, after staring at her fingers for a moment, raised her head again with a sigh. "Leo, I..."  
  
"Shh." He shook his head and a corner of his mouth twitched, a tiny, resigned motion. "Don't worry about it. I don't think either of us are very good at good-byes." He reached for her hand and led her out from between the shelves. "But, I do have something for you to take with you."  
  
"Oh, Leo..." she began to protest.  
  
"No, don't object," he interrupted quickly. "Just take it." He reached behind the till and pulled out what Elira recognized as his lexicon. "I can get another one without a problem," he told her as she turned it over in her hands. "I didn't show you, but there are exercises in there you can do. It's not flowers or jewelry, I guess, but you've been getting more use out of it than I have lately..."  
  
Elira chuckled. "It's wonderful. Thank you." She felt an apology hovering over her tongue, ready to follow the rest of her words out, but in the end she held it back. It wasn't right to apologize for not reciprocating his feelings. Leo had appreciated her friendship and to say 'I'm sorry' would take the meaning from what they had shared. "I wish I had something to give you," she said instead.  
  
It pleased her to see a spark of humour return to his face. "Maybe a kiss?" he suggested teasingly.  
  
She chuckled again. "All right, a kiss." And she tilted her face to him to accept his lips.  
  
It was different than the few kisses she'd shared with Vincent. Leo's mouth was gentle and soft against hers, but there was no spark, no urge to deepen the feeling. After a moment, she stirred and drew away from him. "Thank you again, Leo, for everything."  
  
"It's been a pleasure, Elira. And, who knows, maybe we'll see each other again."  
  
"Maybe." She reached for one of his hands to squeeze it, and the she stepped away. "Good-bye, Leo."  
  
"Good-bye."  
  
And, remembering Benita, she turned and walked out the door without looking back.  
  
She'd brought some gil with her and, on her way back to the villa, she stopped to buy some more tranquilizer darts. She wasn't sure how often Vincent was using them, but it was certainly better to err on the side of caution. Caution, not fear. Vincent, she thought to herself, would do well to learn the difference between them.  
  
Her hands were trembling when she went to unlock the door, and she swore at herself. When she finally opened it, she gave in to the pressure of the shadow and glanced around the front room.  
  
Empty. Of course. With a sigh at her own foolishness, she stepped in and, pulling at her sneakers, went to have a shower.  
  
***  
  
"When is the barge leaving?"  
  
The supervisor, a man in his thirties with dark sweat-dampened hair, turned his eyes slowly from the loading of the barge. "Look, we're kinda busy here..." he began, and then he glanced over his shoulder. It was almost comical when he did a double-take, obviously startled by the appearance of his addresser.  
  
At the reaction, Vincent became suddenly aware of how often Elira had spoken to other people on his behalf and he wondered why he hadn't noticed before. Repressing a sigh of irritation, he asked again. "When is the barge leaving?"  
  
"Uh..." The man scratched at the back of his neck, looking flustered. "Tomorrow morning," he finally answered. "At dawn."  
  
Vincent turned to go, but then paused a moment before walking away. "Thank you."  
  
The man nodded, a quick jerk of his head. Vincent could feel his eyes on him until he passed out of sight of the dock.  
  
The light of day was slow to fade into the west, as if the sun was reluctant to give up her dominion of the sky. Vincent mentally clocked his arrived in Costa Del Sol at almost three hours ago; instead of going directly to the villa, he'd hidden himself away and injected two of the darts, hoping to keep Chaos out of his mind for as long as he could manage. He didn't want an inner commentary for what he was about to do, and the last thing he needed was to have to fight both ends of the continuum at the same time -- against the one who didn't want him to go at all, and the one who was determined to take him there.  
  
It felt like the villa loomed too soon in his sight, and he almost knocked when he came to the door. But something held him back. If he knocked, she would come to answer, and he felt unprepared to see her. It was an irrational feeling, he knew, but he still could not make himself raise his fist. With a sigh, he gave in to his own weakness and grabbed the knob.  
  
The door was unlocked and he wondered if she'd left it that way on purpose. As he entered, he noticed her sneakers on the floor nearby and recognized traces of her scent everywhere. And he had to force himself not to stand and inhale it. Resolutely, he set his teeth and went looking for her.  
  
He came upon her in the kitchen, dressed in summer clothing that left much of her arms and legs bare and revealed a becoming tan. Lost in thought, she seemed worried as she leaned with the small of her back against the counter, idly rubbing her fingers together. So unselfconsciously beautiful it made his throat tighten and something in him ached with a long-ago familiar longing. But, he was determined to do what he had set out to do. Taking a breath, he stepped into the room.  
  
Elira's eyes snapped to him at the movement and she gave a startled gasp, instinctively jumping away. It then took her a moment or two to recover from her shock as she stared at him. "Vincent," she finally breathed. And he could almost believe she'd expected him to vanish as if he'd been a trick of the eye.  
  
He'd spent so many years learning to keep his feelings from others that slipping back into that role was like stepping into a pair of worn shoes. Though they were, perhaps, not comfortable shoes. "Elira, I will be going alone from this point." He kept his voice cold and toneless, and it was almost laughably easy considering the inner conflict he was still experiencing over the decision.  
  
Her eyebrows twitched upward suddenly in surprise and he wondered for a brief moment what she'd been expecting him to say. It had been two weeks since they'd spoken, and in one sentence he'd effectively bypassed all of the obligatory small talk. "You're going alone?" she repeated softly, and then she frowned in hurt confusion. "But...why?"  
  
He'd nearly memorized his argument. "The tranquilizer darts are no longer as effective; the gun has become obsolete. I no longer need your help, and the danger will only increase. There is no sense in risking your life."  
  
"But..." She stuttered on a reply, looking a little lost. Perhaps she'd expected them to be able to pick up where they'd left off, he mused, with their friendship. However, not even that was an option anymore. Elira struggled for a moment longer with her words before eventually asserting, "But who'll watch over you when you're unconscious?"  
  
The way she was worried gratified some part of him, and he quickly crushed the feeling down. "That's not the greatest concern anymore, Elira. Chaos is growing stronger and it's no longer safe for you to come with me."  
  
She frowned again, clearly puzzled. "But...but it wasn't safe in the beginning either, and you still let me come. What's changed?" She stared at him a moment before continuing. "I mean, we've still got the darts, we can still control the demon. We'll just use more of them." Her eyes showed a little hope as she met his gaze, waiting for the effect of her words.  
  
But Vincent was resolved. She would stay behind. And if he had to, he would threaten to forcibly remove her from her promise. He would not take her from what -- who she'd found in Costa Del Sol and put her into danger. "Elira, I'm not leaving this open for discussion. Don't make me have to incapacitate you to keep you here."  
  
"Incapacitate me?" she repeated, and then she stared at him in growing horror. After a moment, however, she lifted her chin and there was skepticism in her eyes. "You wouldn't hurt me." She said it like she believed it whole-heartedly.  
  
And something in him warmed with her trust, just as surely as something began to hurt. "Don't believe me incapable of it." She didn't know what he had once been able to do without so much as flinching. "If you won't stay voluntarily, I can make you."  
  
She didn't look away, but continued to meet his gaze as if she was trying to see into him, challenging his will, daring him to put action to words. When she stepped toward him a moment later, he forced himself to stay where he was. Her eyes were as hard as granite, and he could feel her somewhat incredulous anger. "I know you wouldn't hurt me, Vincent. Why would you even say that?"  
  
It took frighteningly little effort to reach out and grab her wrist, twisting it away from her. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, and then her expression crumbled with pain; in a moment, she cried out. At that signal, he released her and she stumbled away from him, clutching her arm and glaring at him in horrified disbelief.  
  
Something in him was screaming and he knew the guilt over this would eat him alive later. But for now he crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look like he could do it again without a second's hesitation.  
  
She watched him in a fearful, confounded silence for a number of seconds as if she expected him to suddenly come to his senses. And then her eyes began to fill with tears. As they spilled over onto her cheeks she began to tremble. "You...you cold-hearted bastard," she accused him unsteadily, as if she was just coming to the realization. And then her expression contorted with rage. "Goddamn you!" She let go of her arm and stood squarely to face him, still shaking with fear and wounded anger. "You goddamn coward! You are a monster!"  
  
He was breaking, crumbling from the inside. He wasn't even sure what was keeping him standing. "Leave, Elira." He prayed she couldn't hear the tremor in his voice. "Don't force me to do something I don't want to do."  
  
Her eyes widened again and then suddenly, like breaking out of trance, she burst into sobs and ran from the room.  
  
An uncontrollable tremble started in his arms a moment after she was out of sight, and then it spread eagerly to the rest of him like a fire catching hold. Clenching his teeth, he moved to lean against the wall and fought for command over his body, distantly gratified that his eyes no longer produced tears.  
  
***  
  
Nearly blinded with weeping, Elira stumbled to the bedroom and, slamming the door behind her, weaved toward the bed. A step away from it, however, the world tilted suddenly and she fell heavily to her knees. Startled, she was shocked into silence for a moment, and then the sobs began again. The blankets caught her eye and she grabbed a hold of them, burying her face to muffle the terrible noises coming out of her mouth.  
  
God, oh god! How could he... How could he have...hurt her?  
  
The muscles of her arm were still throbbing a little from what he'd done, but it wasn't so much the physical ache as the agony of the idea that he could just reach out and cause her pain without even batting an eye.  
  
Her body shuddered as she gave another series of shaky sobs. How could he have? After everything... Protecting her from the boy in Odriam, attacking Terry to save her from being raped, grabbing her in the forge by the wrist to keep her from falling...the same wrist...  
  
He'd ordered her to leave and she wondered for a frightened, miserable moment if he would come looking for. Would he really hurt her again if she refused to go? He'd told her more than once that he was dangerous, and yet she'd learned to trust him.  
  
She shivered a little and then resolutely wiped her eyes. Enough of this. He'd obviously made up his mind. He didn't want her along, and she knew somehow that it had to do with more than just the danger. Something had happened to convince him that she had to be left behind, and she doubted she would ever find out what it was.  
  
Feeling shaky and sick to her stomach, she pulled herself to her feet and walked to what she had always assumed was Tifa's summer wardrobe. A little rifling brought her the dress she'd worn when Leo had taken her dancing. White and comfortable, it came to her mid-thigh and was held up just over her bust-line with two filmy spaghetti straps. He'd said she was beautiful in it. It seemed appropriate to wear it now. Quickly, she changed out of her clothes.  
  
Leo answered his door only a moment or two after she'd knocked, and then he stared at her, surprised. "Elira?"  
  
She fell into his arms. 


	25. And Resurrection

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Four: ...And Resurrection  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Fingers stroked slowly through her curls, and the gentle pull against her scalp was comforting. "Elira," Leo whispered as if he was afraid anything louder might break her. "What's wrong? What are you doing here?"  
  
She wasn't crying now, but the pressure of tears at the back of her throat felt like it might suffocate her. Lifting her head seemed like it would take a monumental effort when all she wanted to do was stand in a pair of arms and try to pretend the last quarter hour hadn't happened. But she did it. Leo's curious, concerned gaze shuddered her already shaky control and she felt her expression start to crumble.  
  
She couldn't tell him. Vincent's cold, crimson eyes, the feel of his hand around her wrist, and then the pain... She moaned a little as the tears began again.  
  
"Elira." His voice now had an edge of worry to it. "Elira, what's wrong?"  
  
She shook her head a little and gripped his shirt with her fingers. "Please, don't ask me anything. Just hold me."  
  
He gave a small nod and moved his arms to pull her closer. "Okay. Okay."  
  
Grateful, she leaned her head back against his shoulder and could hear the beat of his heart. This heart could belong to her, she thought, if she wanted it. Leo was good and kind, and he would never be anything but gentle.  
  
Vincent had never claimed to be gentle, her mind argued immediately. Always looking somewhat disheveled, with a past full of horrors and a demon in his body, he was nothing if not a little rough around the edges. He knew his own nature and had tried to warn her away time and time again.  
  
She'd never asked him to be gentle. Despite the danger, she'd accepted him the way he was -- even after he'd nearly choked the life out of that teenager; even after she'd discovered that it had been he who had attacked Terry. She'd accepted his blend of unpolished humanity and barely concealed corners. She'd taken the risk and pushed at him anyway until he'd given in.  
  
No, Vincent certainly wasn't Eagan. He wasn't the youthful idealist, with plans for the future big enough to crush him if they fell through. And he wasn't unthinkingly charming or companionable like Leo. But he had been protective and as open with her as he could be. She'd started to believe he would've safeguarded her against any threat, be it a boy on a train, her own closest friend...  
  
...or herself.  
  
It was hard to accept, but she made herself plough into it. She didn't want to forgive him for what he had done. But, somehow, she knew he could justify hurting her if he thought it would keep her from was putting herself into danger. Though, she imagined it would hurt him to do it, the way it hurts a parent to have to discipline their child...for what they believed was their own good.  
  
No, he wasn't Eagan. And he wasn't Leo. He was Vincent; unrefined, abrasive Vincent, protecting her the only way he knew how.  
  
And, lifestream help her if she didn't love him for it. Despite her anger, despite the fear he'd made her feel, despite how she wanted to hate him...  
  
'I love him. Damn him, I love him so much.'  
  
With a sigh, she lifted her head from Leo's chest and resolutely wiped at her cheeks before looking up into his eyes. "Leo..."  
  
He gave her a small, tender smile. "Are you all right?"  
  
She nodded. And then she shook her head. And nodded again. "I don't know. I think I just need a minute."  
  
His eyebrows twitched with a slight frown. "Did something happen?"  
  
She nodded once more. "Vincent came back, and he told me he wants to go alone to the Northern Continent. So, I...I came here..." She smiled in pained apology. "But I know now that I can't let him. Whatever it takes, I can't. I..." She gave a small, helpless laugh that was almost another sob. "I love him."  
  
Leo's expression softened into one of knowing resignation and he sighed. "I've wondered about that from the beginning, what with the way you throw your heart into things."  
  
She couldn't help her rueful smile. "You know me better than I know myself, it seems."  
  
He glanced away for a moment before pursing his lips and returning her wan smile. "So, I guess this is good-bye again, isn't it?"  
  
She cringed, wondering what she might have done if she'd simply let her anger go unimpeded. And what she might have regretted in the morning. "Leo, I'm so sorry..."  
  
"Don't be. I'm glad I could help you figure out your own mind, even if I just provided the arms to lean on."  
  
She stared at him a moment before catching him in a fierce hug. "God, you've been so good to me, and I've never deserved you."  
  
"Elira, you deserve all of the happiness in the world." He embraced her for a few seconds and then let her go. "I hope Vincent gives it to you."  
  
She wondered how likely that would be and steeled herself for what she was going to have to do.  
  
Leo opened the door for her and smiled once more as she stepped out and disappered down the hallway. She never heard the long sigh, the way the planet must sigh as a sunbeam fades, before the door finally closed behind her.  
  
***  
  
Vincent was doing everything he could to keep himself busy.  
  
A brisk shower, a hasty yanking on of his pants even though he was now alone in the villa, and rapid steps to the bedroom where he'd left all of his things. Besides wanting to hurry so that he could be ready when Chaos came back into his consciousness, he was trying to keep himself from thinking about what he'd done. A trick he'd learned in the Turks from a supervisor, for those nights when one woke up in a cold sweat from vivid nightmares, was to start counting backwards from five hundred. It worked as long as he could concentrate.  
  
And his concentration could be near absolute without Chaos or Elira around.  
  
He struggled briefly with the knots in his hair. Tenacious and consolidated, however, they were impossible to work through and he resolved himself to having to cut them out. Three weeks of living in a cave had certainly done his appearance no favours; though, he interrupted his numbers to acknowledge grimly, it wouldn't matter for long. It wasn't as if a corpse had any use for vanity.  
  
Moving efficiently, he stepped over to his pack and, pulling out a shirt, he shrugged it over his shoulders. Another moment saw him taking a couple of darts out to leave on the floor where he could see them. Though he hoped not to have to use them here. It would only be a few more minutes before he was ready to return to his hiding place in town to wait for the dawn.  
  
He brought up flesh and metal fingers to start fastening his buttons when the sound of the villa door opening startled them out of his grip. This was then followed by the unmistakable sound of Elira's footsteps. His numbers spun out and away like smoke. He cursed under his breath. Hopefully she had only forgotten something. Because, he knew he wouldn't really be able to incapacitate her. Even the quick twist of her arm had made him feel as if he'd opened a mortal wound in himself.  
  
Mere seconds brought her to the bedroom door, and then she stood in the doorway, glancing in. The rising moon through a window behind her glinted in her hair and made her skin pale, her white dress nearly translucent. He caught his breath and stared at her, unwillingly captivated. She would never know, he thought, how exquisitely, painfully beautiful she could be.  
  
She approached when she noticed him and there was something wise and resolved in her eyes. It frightened him; she'd caught him at a loss, and he'd dangerously underestimated her will. It surprised him that she would be so determined to continue with him when it meant leaving Leo behind. He couldn't help but admire her, and damn her, for the importance she seemed to place on her promises.  
  
"Vincent." There was an unsettling calm about her now, and it was the calm of someone who had accepted something and its consequences. He'd seen the look before, on the faces of people who knew they were about to die and had chosen to die with courage. "I'm not going to let you leave without me," she said quietly, as if nothing he said or did could change it. It was simply a fact. "If the journey is going to get harder, you're going to need someone that much more. If you get on that barge in the morning, I'm getting on with you. This is as much my journey as it is yours and I'm going to see it through to the end." Then, she lifted her chin ever so slightly. "If you want to stop me, you'll have to incapacitate me, but even then I won't stop trying."  
  
Beautiful and inflexible, now outlined only softly by the moonlight in the bedroom, she had become more than her slender frame, and the fact that she stood a head shorter than himself no longer mattered. She was like a goddess he would have to contend with. He steeled himself, though he wondered if he'd already lost. "Elira, I told you..."  
  
"Yes, I know what you told me," she interrupted him with a disconcertingly simple confidence. "So, either incapacitate me or let me go with you."  
  
He bristled a little. She was fencing him in, leaving him with only one option if he wanted to make sure she stayed. Glaring at her, he stepped forward until there was little more than a foot between them and tried to ignore the way her familiar scent was endeavoring to reach out and snap his coils of control. It would be for the best, he told himself. He was certain he would hate himself, but he already hated himself for so many other things. And to hurt her for the good of her safety was far better than risking her life and the grief of her bereaved lover...  
  
As if to counter his move, she raised her left arm up at the elbow until her hand was only inches from her cheek. Her fingers were trembling. The gesture was lost on him for a moment until he realized that she was offering him her arm again, knowing he could break it if he tried. Surprised, he glanced into her eyes and saw her fear, tempered heavily with her iron-will. She was watching, waiting, putting herself completely at his mercy, trusting something in him that he didn't even trust...something he'd already proven that she couldn't trust...  
  
And the realization of the faith she had in his humanity made him suddenly aware of what a monster was, and how close he'd come to crossing the line. A deluge of self-disgust washed over him and he started to tremble.  
  
Elira gazed at him for another moment before lowering her arm. "You were bluffing," she said bluntly.  
  
He lowered his head. "That was a risk with high stakes, Elira."  
  
"I'm willing to take the risks, remember? Did you think *I* was bluffing about that?"  
  
He was shamed. Peripherally, he saw Elira shift her weight to one foot and place a hand on her hip. "What is this about, Vincent? What made you decide that I couldn't come?"  
  
He raised his hand to push it under his bandana and remembered belatedely that both glove and bandana were on the floor. "It's only going to get progressively dangerous for you to be around me as time passes." He felt so weary all of a sudden, and the thought of all of the empty miles between Costa Del Sol and the Forgotten City made the task seem insurmountable. "It now takes two darts to put me out for any longer than a half hour, and Chaos is no longer so weakened by the sedative. There's also..." He sighed a little and even his lungs felt burdened. "...the possibility that my body has become too damaged over time to survive the exorcism."  
  
"Damaged over time?" He could almost hear her frown. "What do you mean? How long has it been?"  
  
The weight of the years pressed in on him. "I am sixty-seven, Elira. What happened with Lucrecia and Hojo happened forty years ago. They were the first scientist to study Jenova."  
  
He sensed her shock. "Sixty-seven? How...how is that possible?"  
  
"Chaos also keeps me from aging." A curse within a curse. "You may have to make the return trip alone."  
  
She was silent for a moment and the idea that he might have just talked her out of coming with him made him feel heavy with dejection, though it had been what he'd been trying to do all along. Then she took a breath to speak. "I don't care. I'm still going with you."  
  
He glanced up and her expression was resolute. His heart ached and he realized how much he wanted to be able to justify taking her with him. But he couldn't; she had a responsibility for her heart and it was time to play his last trump card. "What does Leo think of you going with me?"  
  
She blinked. "What should he think? He's known about this from the beginning."  
  
"He must not be happy."  
  
"Well, maybe not, but I can't do much about that."  
  
"You could stay with him. You should."  
  
"Stay with him?" She puffed out a puzzled breath. "Why?"  
  
He was slow to recognize his mistake, though it was beginning to come clear to him how far he'd gone wrong in assuming. "Aren't you in love with him?"  
  
She raised her eyebrows in a convincing display of surprise. "In love with him? What makes you think that?"  
  
There was a sudden pounding in his ears. "He kissed you, Elira. I saw him, the day I came for the tranquilizers."  
  
Her lips parted and her expression tightened with a small, astonished frown. And then she gave another quiet scoff. "That was just a kiss good-night. We haven't been anything but friends since I arrived. Is that...is that what this has all been about?" She looked like she wasn't sure whether to laugh at him or chide him, and she dropped her shoulders with a kind of annoyed but affectionate tolerance.  
  
As she stood with her arms relaxed, a strap of the dress slipped down and managed to reveal the gentle curve of one breast. Vincent's eyes were automatically drawn to it and, engulfed in a sudden warmth, he swallowed convulsively. 'Look away!' his mind shouted. 'Look away, damn you!'  
  
But Elira noticed his gaze and, in a moment, she seemed to come to a decision. Slowly, she reached for his hand. And, caught between a growing desire and the need for control, he couldn't resist. She glanced up into his eyes as if searching for warning signs before placing his fingers on her exposed skin. He could feel the strengthening rhythm of her heart and every beat seemed to come with more and more force against his restraints. Then she stepped toward him and the intoxicating scent of her, no longer willing to be ignored, nearly undid him. "Elira," he breathed, and he was surprised how like a moan it sounded.  
  
"Don't be afraid, Vincent."  
  
He hadn't had the chance to button his shirt, and the first touch of her hands on his skin almost made his knees buckle. Then, gently, so gently, she began to use her fingertips to caress his sides, chest, and abdomen. His skin began to tingle and prickle deliciously in the wake of her touch and, overcome, he shivered and closed his eyes. He'd been expecting something else -- a kiss, an embrace -- but this...this preyed on his body's simple hunger for human contact, and it was unraveling him with an uncompromising simplicity. "Elira, please." His throat had tightened his voice into a soft rasp and he swallowed again with difficulty.  
  
She drew her fingers out and played teasingly near the edges of his shirt. "Say stop and I'll stop," she whispered.  
  
'Stop...' But the word got caught on its way to his mouth. It was so good: the warmth of her fingers; the way she was raising goosebumps on his skin, as if she was brushing away the weeks he'd spent alone with Chaos -- and a part of him didn't want it to ever end. If only...  
  
The stroke of her fingers over a particular place on his ribs made him shudder a little and he was startled by his own shaky exhalation. He opened his eyes to see Elira looking at him from under half-closed eyelids, her lips curled upward invitingly.  
  
"You're ticklish," she observed, and there was a pleased amusement in her tone.  
  
"Apparently." A second pass of her fingers was enough to convince him to grab her hand and she gave a small husky laugh. Her lips were trembling delicately, her face open and flushed with unashamed desire. The shining warmth in her gaze was making something in him ache pleasantly, and for one brief but pivotal moment he wondered if it was possible...that she had fallen in love with *him*.  
  
On the heels of this question came the almost painful realization of how much he wanted it to be true. He certainly didn't deserve her. He'd hurt her so many times already, now emotionally and physically.  
  
Still, he longed to know that she loved him.  
  
'Gods preserve us, I do love her...'  
  
She slipped a hand up and over the nape of his neck, sliding her fingers through the roots of his hair. Her lips were parted, her expression slightly imploring.  
  
He trembled, wanting to succumb like that night in the park. To lean into her and taste her lips. But it wasn't right. Chaos was gone for now, but for how long? And it wasn't right to fan the flame when he was going to be leaving her alone again in the cold darkness, especially with his death as a possibility. "Elira..."  
  
"Shh. I know. Just for tonight." Her mouth was shivering and warm against his own. The last of his barriers cracked and crumbled.  
  
***  
  
His kiss was tentative at first, but it deepened quickly and, as before, she was suddenly swept away in heady sensation. Her heart thundered in her chest, her pulse leapt under her skin, pounding out his name with every beat.  
  
Maybe this was the wrong thing to be doing. Maybe he would regret it in the morning. But she would hold him while she could, love him while she could. Though she didn't want to believe that she was fated to love men who were fated to die...  
  
***  
  
They might have made it to the bed, except that Vincent's knees ultimately gave out beneath him. And once Elira was able to stop her startled, excited laughter, they continued on the floor.  
  
Something in Vincent's mind intermittently tried to remind him to be on guard against something, but the warning was easily drowned out in sensation. Elira... Her lips, her hands, her skin under his fingers -- and after so long spent refusing his desire, he couldn't have stopped himself under his own power if he'd wanted to.  
  
'Ahh yesss...sssuch a fassscinating feeling...sssuch a fine line between pleasssure and pain, don't you think?'  
  
Vincent stiffened suddenly as the voice of Chaos slithered through his mind. Not now! Dear gods, how could he have forgotten?  
  
At the change in his body, Elira looked into his face and read his expression. He watched ruefully as the question in her eyes shifted with knowing dismay, and then she locked her arms around him as if to keep him there. But he couldn't. He couldn't! In one desperate move, he pushed away from her and stumbled to his feet. The darts were there on the floor and he grabbed them, putting the needle of the first against the skin of his neck. "Chaos," he rasped, and he wasn't sure if he was saying it in explanation or to address the demon.  
  
But Chaos gave no response and he nearly growled in frustration. Did it think this was a game?  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
He hesitated before turning to her. "Elira. I..."  
  
"I know." She didn't look happy about it, but she knew. "Maybe I should leave the room."  
  
"No, stay here. Get some sleep." He swallowed. "I'm sorry." He paused, trying to find some words to say that could explain. "I can't..."  
  
She stood quickly and, as he lowered the darts, she maneuvered her way into his arms to give him a quick, tight hug. "I know, Vincent," she repeated. "It's all right. I know." He saw the tears in her eyes a moment before she lowered her gaze. "We'll beat Chaos in the end."  
  
But would he be alive to see the end? And he realized then how much a part of him didn't want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted a second chance.  
  
He wanted Elira...to be there with him...  
  
In the dining room he dropped himself heavily into a chair and swore. Damn the demon!  
  
'Sssee how easssy it would have been for me?' Chaos suddenly hissed, as if Vincent's thoughts had summoned it. 'You ssshould leave her behind, asss you planned!'  
  
Elira's words from weeks ago came back to him unexpectedly. Demons always lie. And he began to wonder for the first time why Chaos was so hell-bent on pushing Elira out of the picture. Did it know something about this that he didn't? Was Elira so significant a piece? "Why should I?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
'Do you really want her death on your handsss? Becaussse I will kill her.'  
  
Vincent had no doubt that Chaos would, given the chance. Why, then, would it give him an opportunity to save her life? "Why should it bother you if I let her come?"  
  
But, for a change, the demon didn't say another word for the rest of the night.  
  
And it was a very long night. 


	26. The Omen of Rain

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Omen of Rain  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Elira woke the next morning feeling tired and grumpy; Vincent had left her the evening before in a state not exactly conducive to sleeping and she'd tossed and turned for hours before finally drifting off. She'd managed to kick the blankets off in the night, but there was a heavy dampness in the air that had her feeling sticky and uncomfortable, and it only added to her sour mood. The gray sky out of the window foretold rain. She sighed a little before pushing herself up and out of bed.  
  
Tifa's dress was rumpled on the floor and, feeling a twinge of contrition, Elira picked it up and tried to smooth the wrinkles out. She'd put it on for Leo, not sure what she'd been trying to do. Angry, frightened and rejected, not yet aware of her own feelings, she admitted to herself that she'd considered seducing him. It would have been wrong, and she would have regretted it bitterly in the morning when she returned to the villa to find Vincent already gone.  
  
But she'd returned before the morning, in this dress, and had instead ended up seducing Vincent, whether she'd intended to or not. Though she wasn't sure it had been the right thing to do either. What had it gotten the both of them except frustrated and vulnerable to Chaos?  
  
Vincent's things were still piled by the wall, so she felt safe in assuming he was still in the villa. That relieved her. With a sigh and a hand through her tousled curls, she went to her own pack and pulled out some clothes to wear to the washroom. Then, as an afterthought, she grabbed up the shirt Vincent had tossed away the evening before and draped it over her arm.  
  
She made a detour through the front room and found him in the kitchen, sitting in a chair. He didn't look up at her as she entered, though she imagined he'd heard her coming; he'd probably even heard her stirring in the bedroom. Shirtless and hunched over with his elbows on his thighs and his fingers crossed between his knees, he looked like someone in the midst of a personal crisis and Elira wondered what he'd been thinking about all night. She felt an unexpected sting of guilt for having taken advantage of the desire she'd seen in his eyes last evening, and then she felt an old wash of anger because it wouldn't have happened at all if he hadn't tried to leave her behind, even if it was to protect her. Finally, however, she took a cleansing breath and stepped toward him, holding his shirt out like a peace offering.  
  
"I'm sorry," she told him quietly after a second when he didn't move. "I know I probably shouldn't have touched you last night..."  
  
He shook his head a little to stop her and some of his disordered hair slipped over his shoulders. After a moment, he reached for his shirt without meeting her eyes and slipped the sleeves over his arms. "Thank you," he said quietly as he began to do up the buttons.  
  
"You're welcome." She stared at him a moment, not sure how, or if, she should continue. He'd waited for her; did it mean he'd changed his mind? She pursed her lips before deciding that the question couldn't be put off. "So, what are we doing? If there is a 'we' anymore."  
  
He finally glanced up and met her eyes. "We go to the Forgotten City." And then he dropped his gaze back to his hands and she saw him twitch his metal fingers. "Chaos has been, subtly and not so subtly, encouraging me in my endeavor to leave you behind. I didn't start to wonder why until last night." He gave a small sigh and his expression tightened with self-depreciation. "I'm beginning to think he may know something about this that we don't; perhaps it takes two people." He pursed his lips and lifted his head again. "I think I may need to take you with me after all."  
  
This made her feel another rush of anger toward him. After everything -- after having been abandoned in Costa Del Sol, after three weeks of miserable waiting, after having him threaten to hurt her -- it all came down, not to her feelings, but to what was best from what he could read from Chaos. Somewhere inside, she knew she should be happy that he was going to let her go with him, whatever the reason...but it was infuriating how inconsiderate he could be! She was just working up the energy to give him the scolding that had been building in her since she'd found the note in the bedroom when he spoke again, his expression suddenly filled with an almost painful-looking regret.  
  
"I'm sorry, Elira," he apologized, and his voice cracked on her name. He cleared his throat and, though she saw his eyes dart away as if it was hard to meet her gaze, he made himself look at her again. "I'm sorry I hurt you yesterday, and I'm sorry I left you alone here. I'm sorry for everything." He made a small gesture with one of his hands. "And there's nothing I can do to make it up to you except continue putting you into danger..."  
  
Her anger was melting away, being outweighed by a warmth that made her want to duck forward and kiss him to stop his words. Damn him for his inconsistency! In the end, she simply put two fingers to his lips. "Shh." And then she withdrew her hand until she was holding it out to him. "Friends again?"  
  
The simple gesture seemed to touch him and his lips trembled with an old, familiar smile. He took her hand.  
  
Elira shook it for a moment and then released his fingers. "There, now let's never speak of this again." It wasn't worth it to stay angry; in the interests of the journey, it was better to forgive and forget. And, if she was truthful with herself, she didn't want to spend the time they had left, if he was going to die, feeling mad at him. "I'm going to take a shower before we have to go. What are you going to do?"  
  
He stared at her a moment longer as if surprised by the ease with which their camaraderie had returned. And then she thought she saw a kind of grateful relief in his eyes before he glanced down and picked at a lock of his hair. "Perhaps I'll cut these knots out."  
  
Elira felt something tighten within her at the thought. No! His hair had become like a personality trait and she thought she'd probably miss it like she'd missed his smile and his sense of humour. "Oh Vincent, don't!"  
  
He glanced at her, looking startled by her protest. "Elira, I can't wash it properly when it's tangled like this..."  
  
"Well, just wait a minute." She ran into the bathroom and, after searching for a few moments, came up with some clippers. She then dipped into the bedroom for her own comb. When she returned, Vincent had a dubious eyebrow raised. "I'm not sure it's worth the effort."  
  
Elira only smiled. "Just let me try. I'm not a barber's daughter for nothing, you know."  
  
The knots were stubborn and some of them were nearly matted. Being as gentle as she could, she worked at them with both fingers and comb until some of them began to come loose. These tangles, she thought to herself, and the way he'd almost dealt with them neatly epitomized the way he seemed to deal with anything that risked emotional pain: if you run into a snag, it's easier to simply cut your losses than try to toil through it. She ran the teeth of the comb through a long, dark wave of hair and accidentally caught a snarl she hadn't noticed. Vincent hissed an intaken breath through his teeth.  
  
"Sorry," she apologized, and her mind continued silently, 'Sometimes you have to risk a bit pain for something good.'  
  
"It's all right," Vincent replied. "I expected it to hurt a little."  
  
Elira smiled and continued. Maybe there was hope for him yet.  
  
In the end, she was forced to cut some of the more unmanageable mats out, but when Vincent wrapped his hair back up in the bandana it was near impossible to tell that anything had been snipped away. Satisfied with her work, Elira went for a quick shower and then had something to eat. Twenty minutes later they were heading for the dock.  
  
The tug and the barge were still there, barely visible as they floated in a blanket of humid fog. Nearby, two men stood talking. One of them was a short, squat man with permanently sun squinted eyes and an unlit cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth. He glanced up as they approached and muttered around the cigar, "C'n I help you?"  
  
Elira went to speak, and was surprised when Vincent beat her to it. "We need to get to the Northern Continent."  
  
The man studied them for a few seconds, rolling the cigar in his mouth, before he finally gave one short nod. "A'right. I c'n take you up there. Won't cost nothin', but you..." He indicated Vincent with a jerk of his chin. "You gotta leave yer gun with me."  
  
Elira stared, wondering how the man had known Vincent was armed. Without a word, Vincent reached into his coat and unholstered his gun. The man took it from him and then spent a moment admiring it before gesturing toward the tug. "Go on. We're leavin' in a few minutes."  
  
It started to spit as they stepped onto the small boat and Elira frowned at the sky. "After weeks of sunshine, now we get rain," she muttered. "I hope it's not some kind of omen."  
  
Vincent took off the tent and his pack and gestured for her to remove her own gear. "We should leave these in the cab. It'll be drier in there."  
  
Elira nodded and followed him to the house of the tug. After they deposited their things, however, she came back outside with him to stand at the rusty white railing. Unimpressed, the clouds continued to drip down on them. The way Vincent was standing, with his right hand fingering the empty holster the way one's tongue feels for a missing tooth, made her realize how easily she could fit against his side, sheltered beneath his long coat. After a moment, she turned her eyes away. "Where's Chaos?" she asked quietly.  
  
Vincent took a breath as if coming out of his thoughts and shrugged a little. "I don't know. He hasn't been in my mind since..." He paused suddenly and Elira looked back at him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and went on gamely, "Since last night."  
  
"Oh." There was no wind, but the drops of rain were a little cold against her skin. She pulled her hands inside her sweater and was glad to have decided to leave all of Tifa's clothes behind. "Well, that's good news at least."  
  
He nodded and she turned to look back out at the water.  
  
The squat captain joined them on his tug a few minutes later and, at a signal from him, the other man on the dock swiftly untied the mooring knot. It wasn't long before the engine was grumbling to life and then they were on their way, slowly towing the barge behind like a child hauling a loaded toboggan.  
  
When the sky finally opened up, it was in a sudden torrent that caught them off-guard. Elira had forgotten how quickly summer showers could come and go and she swore as she ran for the shelter of the cab. Vincent followed her and, once they were inside, he pulled a blanket out from where it was tucked in with the tent and proceeded to wrap her up in it. She couldn't help but smile at his attentiveness, the same that had prompted him to get a glass of water for her hangover. Sometimes, she thought to herself, he was like two people: one so driven by the fear of what might happen if he lost control to Chaos that he would do almost anything to keep people safe from it -- and one who could almost risk the fear to satisfy his craving for simple things like conversation and companionship. It was an paradoxical mixture, to say the least.  
  
Holding the blanket closed, and sparing a glance at the captain who was still watching the water ahead, she wiped her face and sat against one iron wall. Assured of her comfort, Vincent lowered himself down beside her and, brushing a few strands of dripping hair away from his skin, fished in his pack for a book. Elira fell asleep, covertly watching him read.  
  
When she woke, hours later she assumed, it had stopped raining outside and Vincent was no longer beside her. With a sigh she stretched cramped limbs and then pushed herself to her feet, feeling hot in clothing that was still a little damp against her skin.  
  
The captain made a sound like he was clearing his throat of phlegm. "'S a nice gun yer husband has," he commented.  
  
The man hadn't struck Elira as someone who talked frequently to strangers and his words surprised her a little. For a moment, she was unsure how to answer. "He's not my husband," she finally replied.  
  
"Uh." The captain peered at her over his shoulder with one squinted eye. "Guess I just assumed..." He made a gesture toward the blanket, indicating, she thought, the thoughtfulness of the act. And then he turned back to the wheel.  
  
There was a small window in the door of the cab and Elira moved to glance out of it. She could see Vincent standing again at the railing, looking out at the ocean, and she wondered if Chaos might have returned. She shrugged out of the blanket and tried to straighten her wrinkled clothing.  
  
The captain took a step to his right and worked to open a window latch. "Mind 'f I smoke?" he grunted.  
  
"Oh. No."  
  
He reached in a pocket for a lighter and cupped a hand to light the end of his fat cigar. "Think I saw 'im before, you know," he muttered, as if continuing a conversation.  
  
Elira blinked. "Who, Vincent?"  
  
"'Zat his name?" He puffed out a breath of smoke. "Years ago, in Junon. Just passin' through, I guess. He looks the same. Part of that group." He took another draw on the cigar. "Avalanche. Just wanted to see the gun, you know? You can tell 'im if you want, he can have it back."  
  
Elira wondered what Vincent would think of having a fan. "I'll tell him."  
  
The captain gave a grunt and a nod before turning back to the controls.  
  
Vincent didn't glance her way as she made her way along the railing. When she was standing beside him, she gripped the rusted iron bar in her hands and leaned over, looking into the gray water. It seemed different than the ocean they'd passed over on the ferry; calm and clear for miles, and sometimes she thought she could see the shape of the bottom. She wondered for a moment if that was just because the tug wasn't as big as the ferry, and now she was closer to the surface.  
  
"Don't fall in."  
  
Elira peered at Vincent out of the corner of one eye and smiled smugly. "What if I did? Would you dive in after me?"  
  
He merely 'hmphed' a little. Elira chuckled and then considered him for a moment. "Is Chaos talking to you?"  
  
He shook his head. "He's being unusually quiet. I'm not sure what it means."  
  
She pursed her lips and then shrugged. "The captain told me you could have your gun back if you wanted. He says he saw you once, in Junon with Avalanche, and he just wanted to have a look at it."  
  
Vincent raised an eyebrow and Elira smiled. "I'll bet you didn't know you had admirers."  
  
He blinked and then shook his head. "It's a strange notion." And then he sighed in a way that alerted her he was about to say something that had been on his mind. "Elira, what will you do if we manage to get rid of Chaos and I don't survive it?" His voice was quiet, and his concern for her future warmed something in her. It made her wonder for an exhilarating second if maybe there was more than simple 'care' behind his words. She licked her lips and thought carefully about what she really didn't want to consider as a conceivable reality.  
  
"I guess I'll make my way back to Neo-Midgar," she answered finally. She didn't tell him how long she thought it might take her. There would be grief. And probably, like with Eagan, that strange kind of wrath for his death, directed both at him and at the world in general. She might even be tempted to kill herself, she acknowledged. But she would try to make her way back.  
  
Vincent was looking at her and his eyes were piercing as if he was trying to see into her. "I want you to," he said seriously. "Go back to Neo-Midgar. Don't..." He paused for a moment, and then turned away to look back at the water. "Don't grieve for me. I've lived long enough, and I'm prepared to face whatever happens."  
  
Like an echo of his words, she suddenly remembered hearing her mother's voice once, telling her father not to bother with an expensive funeral. She couldn't remember the funeral, but knowing her father she doubted he'd listened. But she remembered him agreeing to the request, maybe because her mother was weak and he didn't want to upset her. "Okay. But I'm still going to hope things won't turn out that way."  
  
He nodded once without glancing back at her. Elira thought he'd finished saying what he'd wanted to say and was almost surprised when he continued a moment later in a soft voice she imagined she wouldn't have been able to hear if there had been much other noise around. "Can I ask why you've been so adamant about coming with me?"  
  
'Because I love you.' But the question made her tremble. Subtlety was for cowards and predators, Leo had said. And the look she pictured on Vincent's face as she told him, the surprise and the cold wall to hide his own reaction, scared her. So she merely shrugged. "Because you deserve to be free, Vincent."  
  
It was a moment before he gave any response, and she wondered suddenly what had made him ask. The thought that maybe he'd guessed her feelings made her flush uneasily. When he simply gave another eventual nod, she felt a little relieved, but the presence of her heart in her throat made her nervous about saying anything else. So she retreated back to the cab for the remainder of the trip.  
  
When they arrived on the Northern Continent, nearly nine hours after leaving the dock in Costa Del Sol, they had to dodge the group of men who began, almost before the barge was out of the water, to unload the supplies. Elira guessed that not many women made their way up here as a few of the men began to cat-call her. It made her smile when Vincent surreptitiously maneuvered himself between her and the men as if to state some claim.  
  
It took them almost an hour to make their way on foot to Bone Village, and then Elira had to stop to eat, no longer able to ignore the growling of her stomach, though she had eaten lunch on the tug. A small restaurant caught her eye and she promised to be quick as she jogged for it.  
  
The place was nearly empty and it wasn't long before she was served. Involved in eating, she didn't notice it when a man approached her table until he cleared his throat. "Excuse me."  
  
She glanced up, half expecting a waiter. She was surprised when it was a man with his own plate of food. He looked to be in his mid-forties with dusty gray hair and a mustache that drooped to the corners of his mouth. He was smiling as he indicated the chair across from her. "May I share your table?"  
  
Elira finished what was in her mouth and was about to tell him that she was only going to be another minute eating when she changed her mind. Bone Village was full of scientists, archeologists and excavators; if this man lived here, maybe he'd be able to tell her something helpful. "Please do," she answered.  
  
He put his plate down and pulled out the chair to sit. And then he held out his hand. "Mason Lasling, presently unrecognized archeologist."  
  
Elira took his hand. "Elira Maddison. Um, an individual who's interested in the Cetra."  
  
Her description of herself made him smile again and he withdrew his hand to pick up his fork. "We don't get many newcomers up here, or many young people. You a student, or doing a documentary?"  
  
She shook her head. "Just going to the Forgotten City."  
  
She guessed it was an odd-sounding reason when he raised his eyebrows. "A pilgrimage?"  
  
She gave a small chuckle and replied, "Something like that." She hoped it was reason enough to satisfy his curiousity.  
  
It seemed to be. He nodded a little and turned to his food. Elira watched him eat for a moment before continuing with her own meal. Once she'd finished another bite, she figured it was her turn to ask a question. "So, can you tell me anything about the city? Have you been there?"  
  
"Oh." He swallowed a mouthful and nodded. "Numerous times. There's a lot to discover in those old ruins. The Cetra were a people with a very different culture, even from something like the Wutaiian culture. They put a lot of stock in their religion."  
  
Elira returned his nod. "I've seen a little of their scriptures. Do you..." She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "Do you know much about their religion?"  
  
"Some." He shrugged and prepared another bite. "As much as you can figure out from their churches and things."  
  
"Have you ever seen anything that might suggest...something of their power?"  
  
He glanced up from his plate and then frowned a little. "Mm, well, I suppose not really. We know they did have *some* power, but it's not like I've ever seen white light shoot out of the ground or anything." He grinned and then gestured with his laden fork. "Though there's been some speculation about a crystal they have on a dais at the north end of the city. No one's been able to budge it, though, to study it." And then he gave a small laugh through his nose. "Some people claim to have heard it talking to them." He put the forkful in his mouth.  
  
Elira raised her eyebrows. "Talking to them?"  
  
Mason nodded and chewed for a moment before swallowing. "Claim to have heard the voices of the Cetra. But I don't know if I believe it. I know they had power and I expect they probably had a Promised Land, but I find it hard to imagine an extinct race of people communicating to us from beyond the grave." He gave another laugh and it was almost a dismissing scoff. "Especially when we can see their power fading more every year. The Sleeping Forest is evidence of it."  
  
Elira felt a sudden sting of fear. "Fading?" she asked. Was it too late for Vincent? Would the power they'd been counting on be there at all?  
  
Mason nodded again. "Well, you don't need to 'wake up' that forest any more. You can just walk through it to the city. Though, you know, you don't have to walk if you don't want to. I'm going back up that way tomorrow with a couple of other people and I'd be happy to give you a ride."  
  
Elira considered the offer for a moment. It would save them time, but what if Chaos came suddenly out of its reverie and decided to try and cause trouble? The thought of having to explain Vincent's condition to strangers who might try to hurt him didn't appeal to her. She gave a quiet sigh of resignation and shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'd like to explore the forest."  
  
He gave a shrug. "Suit yourself."  
  
Elira turned back to her plate and finished her meal. In a minute, she stood and turned to her table companion. "It's was nice to meet you, Mr. Lasling."  
  
"You too, Miss Maddison. Maybe I'll see you again up there."  
  
"Maybe." She went to pay for her food, and then to find Vincent.  
  
He was waiting for her across the road and she smiled at his seemingly infinite supply of patience. He glanced at her as she approached and she gestured at the road. "Let's go."  
  
He gave an obliging nod of his head and they started toward the Sleeping Forest. 


	27. The Sleeping Forest

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Sleeping Forest  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Elira had decided in Costa Del Sol, specifically on the beach in the evenings, that though it was nice to have primarily uninterrupted warm weather, the humid climate wasn't for her. This decision was based especially on the great presence of mosquitoes in the resort town. It had been such a relief to finally leave them behind.  
  
That was why she thought it singularly unfortunate that the Sleeping Forest seemed to be swarming with the nasty little bloodsuckers.  
  
"Dammit, leave me alone!" she muttered to herself as she slapped another one off of her arm. Even through her jacket and sweater they were pricking her, and the itching was fast becoming intolerable. Despite her best efforts, her hands were already covered with irritated red bites and she could feel a few of the swollen bumps on her face. If only she'd thought to buy some bug-repellent! A mosquito endeavored to land on her ear and, finally too frustrated to go on, she stopped in her tracks and began to wave her arms furiously around herself in a vain attempt to scare the pests away.  
  
Vincent had gained a few feet on her while she'd been dealing with the inconvenient insects, and now he stopped to glance back at her, looking unperturbed.  
  
Elira glanced up and glared at him, realizing for the first time that she had yet to hear him smack one from his skin. "Why aren't they bothering you?" she demanded, irrationally upset by the fact. "What are you doing differently?"  
  
He didn't answer, but began to slip the tent and his packs off of his shoulders. Once they were on the ground, he pulled out of his coat and then beckoned her with a nod of his head. She wondered what he was doing as she approached, but as he arranged the coat in front of him she thought she understood. With a sigh of relief, she yanked at the straps of her own packs and let him drape his coat over her.  
  
"Thank you," she told him. On her, the hem nearly brushed her heels and the black sleeves engulfed her hands; like a girl dressing in her father's clothing, she thought to herself with a wry smile. Quickly, she turned to gather up her things and struggled to put them back on over the bulk of the coat.  
  
Vincent gave her a hand with her gear and then, like an afterthought, he moved to sweep her hair free of the collar. She turned to smile up at him and suddenly became aware of the scent of him on his coat, mixed with the smells of dust and rain. Her body tingled a little and she tried to keep her thoughts from bringing a blush to her face.  
  
"It may simply be the smell of your skin." Vincent stepped away to pick up the gear he'd taken off.  
  
Elira thought about this for a moment. "My skin?" she asked. "Would that attract them?"  
  
He glanced at her as he bent to retrieve the tent and she thought she saw something flit over his expression, but it was gone before she could identify it. "Your skin is..." He paused, and then turned his face away from her in a gesture that seemed to radiate embarrassment. "The smell of your blood," he continued eventually, "through your skin may attract them."  
  
Elira watched Vincent put on his own gear and couldn't help thinking to herself, 'What a pair we make. We've both been stewing so long in our own juices we're practically ready to burst!' When Vincent started walking again, however, she simply went to catch up with him. There was, she admitted to herself glumly, very little they could do about it.  
  
The barrier of his coat made a difference -- it was too thick for the mosquitoes to get through -- and the approach of evening was cooling the air enough to make wearing the extra layer bearable. So by the time night began to fall she felt she was actually starting to enjoy the hike. Though shadows grew longer, it was hard to be afraid with Vincent beside her, even when he sometimes seemed to disappear into patches of darkness.  
  
Eventually, however, as it became dimmer without moon or stars visible through the canopy of leaves, she began to stumble on things she couldn't see. Once, she nearly tripped headlong over a clump of elevated roots, and she only didn't hit the ground because Vincent managed to grab her by the arm and haul her back to her feet. When he suggested stopping for the night, though, she shook her head. Sleeping on the tug boat had given her some extra energy and she thought she could probably go for another hour as long as he was willing to keep an eye on her. He seemed ready to debate it, but finally he agreed and they continued.  
  
It was probably fifteen minutes before her sneakers caught on something else and sent her tumbling forward. Expecting to feel Vincent's firm grip on her elbow, she was surprised when she landed heavily in the grass with a grunt. "Ouch," she murmured to herself, rubbing her hip where the small dagger had likely left a bruise. "Vincent, I thought you were going to catch me."  
  
Vincent didn't reply and she rolled onto her side to look up at him.  
  
But, for all she could see, someone might as well have put a bag over her head. Feeling a stirring of panic in her gut, she pushed herself to her feet and glanced around. "Vincent, where are you?"  
  
Still no reply, and her stomach started to clench with fear. "Vincent!" She couldn't believe he was doing this on purpose. "Answer me! I can't see anything! Where are you?"  
  
'Ellllllira...'  
  
It was like a whisper hissed in her ear and she gasped and spun around, feeling her heart beating in her ears. But there was only more blackness behind her. Her chest felt tight with her short, heavy breaths. "Vincent!" Her voice sounded shrill in her own ears. "Vincent, where are you?" She thought she felt something ghost over her hand. With a startled exclamation, she jumped and was running before she even realized it.  
  
When she impacted with something, she imagined it to be a tree for a split-second, but then it gave way in front of her with an 'oof!' She tried to keep her balance, but despite her efforts she was pitching forward into Vincent's hastily prepared arms a moment before he fell to the ground with a grunt.  
  
"Elira!" He sounded both winded and relieved.  
  
She was practically lying on top of him, sprawled ungraciously between his bent knees, but she felt unable to do much more than grip the material of his shirt in her cold fingers and breathe. When he began to try to sit up after a few seconds, however, she attempted to accommodate him. Soon they were sitting together on the ground, so close she could briefly feel his breath on her temple.  
  
"Elira, where were you?" His voice was terse with worry as he got to his feet and she could feel his hands trying to pull her up. The unyielding metal of his prosthetic was hard against her right arm and she suddenly recognized how few times he'd actually touched her with it.  
  
"I was just there," she told him, glancing once over her shoulder, and now in the darkness she could make out the slightly reddish glow from his eyes. "I tripped, and then I called out for you. Didn't you hear me?"  
  
He didn't answer right away, and when he did his voice was wary. "No, I didn't." She noticed that, although she was now steady on her own feet, his hands were still holding her by the arms. "I think we should set up your tent."  
  
***  
  
Elira was trembling a little in his partial embrace as she nodded. When he stepped away to get the tent ready, he sensed her movement before he felt her body come up against him as if she was afraid to let him get very far. The brush of one of her thighs on his own was enough to draw a quiet hiss out of him and he quickly took another step from her. "Elira, I'm right here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."  
  
"I know, I know," she muttered quietly, and he could see her in the dark rubbing her fingers together. "Sorry."  
  
It only took him a few minutes to get her tent ready, and then he pushed the blankets gently into her hands. "Go to sleep, Elira. I'll be right here."  
  
Something in her face made him worried for a moment that she was going to try to draw close to him again, perhaps for comfort, and he was somewhat relieved when she seemed to change her mind. With his help, she ducked into the tent and he could hear her rustling around as she prepared to sleep. Almost without conscious effort, his right hand drew the Peacemaker from its holster.  
  
'Yesss, by all meansss, prepare your weapon. Not that it will sssave her...'  
  
Chaos! He grimaced and turned to the tent. "Elira?"  
  
"Yes?" he heard her muffled reply.  
  
"I put the darts in my coat pocket. Could you hand me two of them?"  
  
He heard her rustling around again. "Are you all right?"  
  
He considered telling her that the demon had returned, but he thought it would probably only worry her, perhaps enough to keep her from sleeping. "It's just a precaution."  
  
"Okay." She was then poking her head and one arm out of the tent flaps. "Where are you? You can take these from me."  
  
He pulled the tranquilizers from her hand and she disappeared again into the tent. In a few seconds, all rustling from inside stopped. With nothing else to do, and feeling alert and restless, he began to pace around the area. On the way here, Elira had told him about her lunch companion and the possibility that the Cetra's power was fading from the planet. But he was starting to think this forest had a little magic left in it.  
  
Magic, he thought with a tremor, Chaos seemed to be able to use to its advantage.  
  
***  
  
When Elira woke early the next morning, it was to the sound of something growling. Still half-asleep at first, she imagined it was an exposed motor in Mr. Dayle's autobody shop and she tried to remember for a moment if he'd asked her to come in to work today. As she opened her eyes, however, the sight of the pale dawn filtering through the walls of the tent reminded her of where she was.  
  
But the growling continued, not a part of any dream. Though it didn't sound like Chaos. A wild animal? Everything in her tensed as she pictured Vincent being attacked by something out of the forest. Quickly, she threw the blankets off and crawled to the mouth of the tent. Once she was there, she debated for a moment whether or not to simply open the flap, but it became academic as Vincent spoke suddenly.  
  
"Stay in there, Elira." His voice was soft and the words came out rapidly.  
  
"What's going on?" she whispered back. "Are you okay?"  
  
He didn't answer. The growling continued for another few seconds before it cut off abruptly, and then she could hear the sound of something trotting away on nimble paws the way a dog might after it's been called off by its master. A long silence followed, and Elira waited in it uneasily until Vincent spoke again. "All right, it's safe to come out now."  
  
The first thing she saw as she opened the tent was the back of his leg, and she followed it up his rigid frame, noting the gun in his hand. "Was that an animal?" She reached blindly behind her for her sneakers.  
  
"A black wolf," Vincent replied without glancing away from where he was staring into the distance. "We're probably in the territory of its pack. It's likely it wanted to see if we were a threat." But something in his voice, and the way he kept a hold of his weapon, made her wonder if he was convinced that was the reason.  
  
It wasn't long before they were on their way again. From what she could see of the dawn beneath the trees, Elira couldn't imagine it was much past five-thirty or six in the morning -- she almost asked Vincent to check his watch, but she remembered in time that it wouldn't help them here; finding out the hour in Neo-Midgar would have very little impact on them now. She ate a little breakfast, and then helped Vincent to gather their things.  
  
The first hour of walking saw the ground begin to slope uphill. It wasn't what anyone would have called steep, but it was enough for Elira to feel it in the muscles of her calves. To keep her mind from the discomfort, she spent her time looking at her surroundings. But, despite her almost unconscious watchfulness for more wolves, she saw no traces of any animals larger than birds or the occasional squirrel.  
  
It was coming to what she guessed was about noon when she noticed that the trees were beginning to thin out around them as they entered a shallow, grass-covered vale. To their right and left, the ground curved upward into cliffs that became steadily steeper with every hundred or so yards. It looked as if something very large had swiped a portion of land away to create a valley. With the sun shining down on her, no longer hidden behind a sweltering cover of leaves, Elira felt her mood begin to lift. This really was a pleasant place in the day time, she found herself thinking. Perhaps this would be a good time to stop and eat. She turned to suggest the idea to Vincent.  
  
And fearfully caught her breath as she noticed the shape of a large black wolf trailing them along the western ridge. "Vincent..."  
  
"Shh. I know. I've been watching them."  
  
Them? She felt a prickle of fear over the back of her neck. "How many are there?"  
  
"Eight that I've seen. There's also a group of them on our right."  
  
She gave an unwilling glance up to the other bank of land, and it was almost worse when she didn't see anything. "Are you sure?"  
  
Vincent didn't answer her question. "They may just be waiting for us to pass through. There may be no need to fear. But..." He turned his head a fraction to look at her out of the corner of one eye. "If they do attack, I want you to run and find a tree to climb. Stay there until it's safe to come down."  
  
Elira felt her heart climb into her throat. "What will you do?"  
  
He moved to watch the way ahead again, though she thought he was probably also watching the wolf. "I'll try and kill the leader. The others should flee after that."  
  
The idea of a pack of wolves rushing down on him, snarling with their teeth bared in the expectation of flesh, made her stomach turn sour with dread. "What if..." She swallowed uncomfortably. "What if you don't kill him in time?"  
  
He pursed his lips, looking determined as he stared forward. "Elira, I've survived a number of seemingly-fatal injuries. I doubt this would be any different."  
  
His voice was quiet and calm, but the words didn't reassure her. "How can you be sure? What if..."  
  
The rest of her question was cut off suddenly; as if there had been some signal, the black wolf on the edge gave a loud yip and leapt down the incline, followed by a number of its pack. Others were also coming down from the right. Elira couldn't help a gasp of fright as they approached at an alarming speed and she edged instinctively closer to Vincent.  
  
"Run!" He pulled out his gun and began to back up against her as if to push her into action. When she didn't move right away, he snapped his head around to glare at her out of one brilliant red eye. "*Run!*" he shouted harshly.  
  
The tone of his voice startled her and she trembled, staring at him for a moment. She was afraid to stay where she was, but she felt equally afraid to leave him to the wolves, and the inner conflict rooted her to the ground for a couple of seconds too long. When she finally did go to run, a wolf loped up with an insolent kind of ease to cut her off. Before it could get very close to her, however, the ground in front of it exploded with a bullet. It bounded away with a growl, but was quickly replaced by others patient enough to wait for their meal.  
  
Vincent was there at her elbow and Elira half expected him to berate her for hesitating, but he seemed too intent on the threat to worry about that now. The wolves had taken up a kind of pattern around them, almost a circle, and they were pacing slowly. When another one tried to lope forward, Vincent spent a second bullet firing at the ground to frighten it back again. Elira wondered uncomfortably how many bullets his gun chambered. If he killed one that wasn't the leader, would they all attack? And how many would he be able to shoot down before he was overwhelmed?  
  
And then what would happen? Though he might survive an attack, she certainly was only mortal...  
  
Elira could feel the tension of the standstill as the wolves sized up the threat Vincent presented them, and she knew it was stretching quickly to its limit. Agitated and wary they seemed, watching him with eyes that looked too aware, too intelligent for animals. It frightened her to see the almost tangible malice in those dark gazes. And then a sweep of movement, a brush of black against her peripheral vision, made her gasp and her body tensed for flight.  
  
But it was Vincent who had moved, and not any of the wolves.  
  
With a speed that surprised her, he darted toward the unbroken circle and then, just as the beasts began to snarl and lope forward, he crouched and pushed himself into an expertly timed flip that carried him safely over them. A couple of teeth-filled maws snapped beneath him, and Elira expected that if he'd been wearing his coat they might have been able to grab it and pull him down. But as it was, they were left gnawing on air and Vincent was up and over the incline before they could leap up after him.  
  
And leap up after him they did, suddenly interested in the moving prey. Quite abruptly, Elira found herself being left out of the action. She hadn't taken to her heels from the danger, so Vincent was taking the danger from her. And this time, she didn't waste the opportunity he'd bought her. A tree about twenty feet away, one of the only trees in the vale, caught her attention and she ran for it as if running for the security of a parent's embrace.  
  
She realized too late that she probably should have waited another few seconds before moving. Sensing her activity, two of the wolves still in the valley with her broke off pursuit of Vincent to track this new prey. She could hear them behind her as she ran, panting lightly and padding swiftly across the grass on agile paws. The trunk of the tree was getting closer and closer with every step and she stretched out her arms for a low branch as she approached. And then, with a burst of clumsy energy, she pushed and pulled herself up out of harm's reach.  
  
The wolves arrived at the base of the trunk only seconds after her, and one of them stood up on hind legs against the tree, growling menacingly. Elira stared down at it from among the leaves, trembling and whimpering quietly as she caught her breath. The adrenaline of the last few minutes was draining out of her, leaving her feeling cold and sick. She wondered miserably what the odds were that they would get out of this unscathed.  
  
The sound of a gunshot made her glance up through the leaves, and it was purely by chance that Vincent appeared on the ridge where she could see him. Without the bulk of his coat at this distance, he looked blade thin and his movements were almost gracefully whip-like as he followed her example, jumping for the lowest branch of a tree and easily swinging himself up to safety. The wolves were only seconds behind him, and they gathered rapidly around the trunk like ants converging on a piece of food, growling and pacing and trying in vain to reach him.  
  
'Great, now we're both stuck in trees.' The thought brought a wave of despair, but she realized a moment later that Vincent was far from stuck. She couldn't see him for the leaves, but she could hear it as he started to fire off shots at the creatures.  
  
And then she recognized that she wasn't exactly helpless either. She had the tranquilizer gun, and all of the darts were with her either in the pockets of his coat or in her pack. Of course, this wasn't what they'd bought the darts for, but they had enough to spare a couple. Determinedly, she sat up on the branch and, after making sure she had her balance, she began to reach behind her for the gun.  
  
***  
  
'I feel your frussstration, Vincsssent. Why not admit that you need the help and let me kill thessse creaturesss?'  
  
Vincent ignored the demon, trying to concentrate on what he could be doing wrong. His aim was steady and he'd never had a problem shooting moving targets before. How could he miss *every time*, especially at this range? The wolves moved so fast, the bullets almost seemed to pass through them as if they were shadows. As he stopped to reload, he glanced quickly into the vale to make sure that Elira was still relatively well in her own tree. It looked like she'd moved -- she was no longer holding on to the branch like she was about to be plucked off -- and that worried him a little. Silently, he willed her to stay put until he could come and get her.  
  
The brave streak in her sometimes reminded him of another young woman he'd known before; one who had once come through this forest alone on her way to the city and who had died for her show of courage under the whistling sword of a madman. Sometimes too much bravery without the temperance of fear could be dangerous...  
  
A wolf jumped up suddenly to place its paws on the trunk, growling as if Vincent had done something to anger it. Swiftly, he leveled the barrel of the Peacemaker and fired. But, instead of dropping dead with a bullet hole between its eyes, the wolf merely hopped away as the ground under it erupted with the shot. Vincent stared in disbelief. What had just happened? He couldn't have missed that time.  
  
'They cannot be harmed by bulletsss, you fool,' Chaos hissed at him. 'Ssstop trying. It'sss time for you to acknowledge that you need me!'  
  
Vincent had been wondering why the demon wasn't simply pushing its way out as it had so many times before, but now it came clear. It wasn't enough for him to be overpowered -- he had to admit that he needed the darkness, the fighting edge Chaos brought to him. He had to admit that he was wrong, the first step toward turning around and heading back to his old life.  
  
But he wasn't about to do that. "I don't need you," he muttered out loud.  
  
'Ssso you sssay, but ssshe may need *you* in a very few momentsss. If you ussse my help, if you will go back to Neo-Midgar, I will let you have her. I promissse...'  
  
'But demons always lie...' Vincent glanced back into the vale and concentrated on seeing Elira through the leaves. Eventually, he was able to make her out as she struggled with her pack. Was she trying to get the tranquilizer gun? Something about the mechanics of her movements made him uneasy, and he realized after a second that she was making no provision for the yanking she was doing. Once the gun came free in her hands, unless she was quick enough, she would be overbalanced and would likely fall. Everything in his chest seemed to tense up. How could he stop her? Would he have the time to reach the tree before she fell? Perhaps a warning would be enough for now. Drawing in a lungful of air, he shouted out, "Elira!"  
  
His voice carried over the distance between them and he saw her glance his way. As she did so, however, the gun finally came loose in her hands.  
  
And Vincent watched in unequaled horror as the worst of his fears came true. She started to slip inexorably to one side and there was a knowing shock on her face as she slid too far for her to stop herself. He heard the numbing smack of her hand against the bark as she tried in vain to grip anything to stop the descent, and then she was falling.  
  
"No!"  
  
He couldn't remember afterward how he managed to get back into the valley. He guessed later that he'd jumped from the tree. And then he was stumbling forward on legs sore with impact, running toward the two black wolves who had converged on her as soon as she'd hit the ground. Somewhere inside, he knew he was probably too late, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was getting there.  
  
'Imagine, Vincsssent...'  
  
The wolves were snarling and he heard Elira scream.  
  
'Imagine all of that beautiful ssskin being ripped away ssso they can feed on her organsss...'  
  
It was a moment he would never forget. Ten feet from her, the image in his mind was enough. The pain and the choking despair of failing her, the suffocating regret of letting her come, the horrible realization that he was about to lose the only thing in the world that mattered and that nothing he ever did would make up for it.  
  
And Chaos fed eagerly. But compared with the agony in his mind, the physical torment of transformation was of no consequence. 


	28. Elira and the Beast

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Elira and the Beast  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Elira knew she was going to die. Horribly at that. And all for a stupid mistake. Sharp teeth would make short, painful work of her, and she would die knowing she'd just proven Vincent's idea of fate right. He would blame himself -- she knew he would. He would run and hide, and never let anyone that close to him again. And it would be because of her.  
  
'Oh god, Vincent, I'm so sorry...'  
  
She landed on her back with a hard exhalation of air that ripped her throat, and the trauma of impact numbed her entire body. A moment later, the wolves were growling over her, snuffling and baring their teeth. When one suddenly opened its fangs, its muzzle rippling and its dark eyes shining, she screamed and cringed in expectation of the first bite.  
  
But no bite came. It snarled at her as if to warn her against trying to move, and then resumed snuffling with its companion as if she might be carrying treats in her pockets.  
  
Feeling was coming back slowly into her limbs, and everything ached. She noticed that something in her pack was digging uncomfortably into her spine, but she didn't dare try to shift positions. What did these wolves want? After seeing them race down into the valley, it was hard to believe they were still just curious. She thought about the way they'd circled them, not exactly attacking but doing enough to make it seem as if they would. Had they only been trying to detain them? Could they be that intelligent?  
  
Her ears picked up the sound of boots pounding the ground, approaching. Vincent... He was coming to help her. He would shoot the ground, scare the wolves away, pull her to her feet and then they could battle their way out of this together. It would become just another experience under their belt, something they could argue over later as he lectured her on the importance of listening to him when he told her to run. She could almost hear the gruff, worried tone of his voice, see him rub his forehead as she argued back. She was almost looking forward to it.  
  
But then the footsteps stumbled to a halt and she heard Vincent give a strange, choked moan that escalated into a wailing howl. The sound reverberated through her memory, bringing to mind the day in Odriam when she'd seen him transform for the first time. He'd given himself over to anger while trying to protect her from that boy...  
  
'Oh no... Vincent, no! Don't give in to Chaos! I'm here! I'm fine! Please, don't...'  
  
Despite the wolves, she struggled to sit up, bringing the tranquilizer gun in her hand with her. Suddenly alert again, the creatures moved to growl in her face, but she couldn't let her fear control her. This was more important! Not sure what else to do, she gave a clumsy swing at the closest wolf with the gun, hoping perhaps to knock its head away and buy herself a moment to get her sneakers under her.  
  
But the gun passed through the beast's muzzle as if she'd been trying to hit a patch of fog. She stared for a moment in incredulous shock. What the hell? Hastily, she scooted away and lurched awkwardly to her feet. The wolves followed her on silent paws, but as if they knew they could no longer threaten her, they'd stopped growling and seemed content merely to watch her. Were they spirits of some kind?  
  
But she didn't have the time to speculate. Crouched on the ground and facing away, though she could see one ear shooting up through his hair, Vincent gave a thick, muffled exclamation of pain as the demon's wings broke through his back into the physical world. Automatically, she raised the gun and fired at the side of his thigh, not wanting to risk accidentally hitting his pack, the tent, or the wings instead. But nothing came out of the barrel. She felt a tingle of fear as she realized that, since Vincent had started injecting the darts himself, she hadn't thought to continue loading the gun. He'd said it was obsolete.  
  
He'd obviously been wrong.  
  
At the sound of the gun, she saw Vincent turn his head to look at her. Through bloody eyes he stared, and even with the changes to his eyes and his mouth, with two sets of the demon's incisors intruding over his lips, his expression was clear. Shocked disbelief, and a kind of broken madness. And then he began to shudder.  
  
"E...Elira?"  
  
It almost wasn't his voice. Rough and guttural it seemed, raw with pain distorted by the fangs. Elira felt something in her tremble. 'He *did* think I was dead...'  
  
And then he doubled up again with a low groan through clenched teeth, and Elira could see his body start to change. Jolted back to reality, she thrust her hand into her pocket for the darts, not sure if there was time to do anything. "Hold on, Vincent," she whispered, hardly aware she was speaking. "Hold on." Her fingers kept shaking and she grunted in panicky frustration as they slipped again and again on the package.  
  
"Too...late... R...run!"  
  
But what would running avail? She glanced up in time to see the last second of painful transition between man and demon, and then Chaos was flexing its wings as if the long stay within the human body had made them stiff. Then it was slowly standing to its full towering height and turning to look at her over one massive shoulder, twitching the bone and membrane of a wing out of the way. She could almost believe it was trying to taunt her into some action.  
  
When the package finally came open in the pocket, she gasped aloud and fumbled for the darts. Before she could grab any of them, however, Chaos made a move toward her, leering and hissing with a kind of anxious pleasure. Instinctively, since she was unprepared, she stumbled back.  
  
The demon opened its mouth and she saw a long, black tongue lick along the points of its teeth. "Ah yesss. Fear me, human. It'sss time, I think, you learned sssomething about fear."  
  
Elira stared in incomprehension, surprised the thing had spoken to her. Its voice was thick and angry, like the thunder of an approaching storm amidst the hiss of rain. And then, like hearing a finger-snap, she came to herself and realized that Vincent had been right: she would have a better chance with the gun, firing from a distance if she could manage it. If only there were more trees in this area to duck behind.  
  
The demon began to advance on her again with that mocking slowness, and the two wolves followed at its sides like trained pets. The other wolves were nowhere to be seen, and Elira wondered a moment before she turned and ran if all of this had been Chaos' doing from the beginning. Had they walked blindly into a trap it had prepared?  
  
She could hear the demon pursuing her, its breath a rumbling snarl. She stumbled once, regained her footing, and then glanced over her shoulder in time to shrug away from the sweep of a great clawed arm. But the demon didn't seem perturbed. In fact, her resistance seemed to amuse it.  
  
She was nearly overcome by despair when it reached out a hand a simply plucked the tranquilizer gun out of her grip. It took only a small amount of effort for it to crush the weapon, and then it dropped the piece of useless metal to the ground.  
  
Chaos was only playing with her the way a cat bats at a mouse, she realized wretchedly. It knew there was nowhere for her to escape to, and she couldn't run fast enough to give her the time to grab the darts and then plunge them into an exposed area of hide. She was basically at its mercy -- except she was sure that it had no mercy.  
  
Its next swing was close enough to send her tripping on her own feet until she fell to the ground. And then it laughed, a horrible hissing sound. "Poor human, ssso helplessss. You're making thisss too easssy. After all of thisss time, I wasss exssspecting more fight from you, little thorn in my ssside. You teassse, but you don't deliver."  
  
She managed to scrabble to her feet, but not in time to escape those claws. They were quick to grab the pack on her shoulders, and then she was being swung around to face the demon. It leered unpleasantly, and its breath was hot and acrid on her face. "I told him it would come to thisss. I even gave him the chancssse to sssave your life. But he wouldn't lisssten, and now I have no choicssse. Sssuch a pity. Sssuch a tasssty little thing." It ventured its tongue forth as if to touch her face. Disgusted, Elira cringed away, fighting uselessly against the powerful grip it had on her arms. It laughed again and withdrew the gesture. "You csssertainly don't ssseem asss eager for a kissss now asss you did in Cosssta Del Sssol." And then, suddenly, something came over its face and its horrible eyes began to close. When it breathed out a hoarse groan of perverse pleasure, Elira felt her stomach recoil with nausea.  
  
"Oh...yesss... Yesss, I've never felt thisss much emotion from him! Fear...desssperation...hatred..." It opened its eyes again and Elira tried hard not to flinch at the obvious hunger in its expression. "I think I'll play with you awhillllle longer," it drawled with a dreadful grin. And, without warning, it crouched and propelled the both of them into the air.  
  
Elira swallowed the scream that wanted to burst out of her mouth, knowing with a terrible certainty that Vincent was experiencing every second of this along with her. And, when it came time, he would see and hear and feel her death in all of the gory detail Chaos was undoubtedly going to inflict. If only there was some way to win this time...  
  
The rush of air made her eyes water, and she gasped when the wings finally opened to an air current, feeling light-headed. She almost didn't notice the soft bump of something against her thigh, something in Vincent's pocket.  
  
Almost.  
  
***  
  
As Chaos opened its wings to the embrace of the air, Vincent began to get a little of his wits back. So much had happened in the last few minutes, his grief and despair had gotten the better of him; but Elira needed his help now and that meant he had to gain some control over his emotions, especially the fear. Chaos had ruled him through fear for too long and, with the woman he loved caught in the bind, he knew the time had come to throw off the oppression. It was the only way to save her.  
  
There was no suggestion of a physical self when Chaos took over his body; he always became an immaterial consciousness in the back of the demon's mind and it took a lot of strength to be anything else. The urge to give over control, to submit to instinct and rage, was always there whether he wanted it to be or not. Lately, he'd gotten better at pushing the urge away and fighting for control, but it still required an effort. Like following a windy path, hand-over-handing along a rope, he struggled forward until he came to a place where he could influence the demon's actions. And then he poured all of his will into forcing Chaos to land.  
  
For a moment he thought he was getting through, but when Chaos gave the mental equivalent of a head shake it knocked him away. 'Don't be a fool, human!' the demon's voice snarled at him. 'Don't you underssstand yet how easssy it would be for me to kill her?'  
  
They were high, maybe twenty-five feet from the ground. And, despite all of his efforts against it, Vincent was swept away in a torrent of fear as the demon suddenly let Elira go. Her terrified scream as she dropped away shuddered him to the very core, and he knew the sound would haunt him forever. Desperately, he grappled with the will of Chaos, trying to force it into diving after her, but to no avail. His fear was making it too strong for him to fight it.  
  
And the demon laughed its horrible, hissing laughter. 'Oh, yesss... You can't help yourssself! Your love for the human makesss you weak! But I'm not finissshed yet...'  
  
Vincent was more than relieved when Chaos turned to race toward the ground, catching Elira carelessly under the knees and neck less than a foot from the ground. Vincent could see through the demon's eyes that she was fluttering on the edge of consciousness and a sudden idea made him strive to compel the arms to drop her now; so close to the ground, she might have a chance. But Chaos shook him off again and was on the way back up before Vincent could make a second attempt.  
  
'Tell me you will go back to Neo-Midgar, Vincsssent, and I will let her live,' the demon bargained suddenly. 'You may even keep her with you. Jussst sssay you will give thisss journey up and I will give you back your life.'  
  
The offer was more tempting this time than when he'd been sitting in the tree above the valley. Chaos would spare her life, and he could go back to working with guns. He would enjoy the work and her company, and it would be enough like the life of a normal man to satisfy him.  
  
But what would Elira think when she realized he had given up? Would she even want to stay with him, coward as he was? Especially when staying with him meant she would age while he remained forever the same? And what promise did he have that the demon would keep his word -- when demons always lied?  
  
No, he couldn't accept the terms. Maybe there had been a time when he might have, but that time had passed. He didn't want to die, and he didn't want to merely survive. He knew now that he wanted a second chance. The idea that he could have Elira for himself -- as his lover, his companion, perhaps even his wife -- was giving him another small taste of freedom from fate, and it made him hungry for more. 'No, Chaos.' He felt more composed than he knew he had any right to be, but the tide of fear was finally receding in the face of the hope for something better. 'I'm going to continue. You're not going to frighten me into going back.'  
  
Chaos gave a growl, and Vincent fully expected him to reply with some new threat or bargain, but they were both interrupted by a sudden stabbing pain in the abdomen. It took Vincent a few moments to recognize the feel of the tranquilizer darts, and then Elira was laughing breathlessly at what she'd been able to do. Chaos gave a wail of wrathful denial as it was forced back under Vincent's own skin, but there was nothing it could do.  
  
The full impact of their situation didn't hit Vincent until the moment gravity began to assert its authority, some fifteen feet from the ground. Still in his arms, Elira cringed as she realized how impulsive her actions had been and gripped his shirt. "Oh god, I've just killed us," he heard her say over the growing rush of wind.  
  
But flying certainly had taught him a few things about landing. Bringing his legs up gave him enough weight to spin until he was in a proper position to hit the ground on his feet and, shaking off the sedatives' effects as best he could while clutching Elira to his chest, he prepared for touch down.  
  
He bent his knees as they hit the grass and quick reflexes allowed him to fall forward into front roll, but the encompassing darkness of the tranquilizers made him clumsy. Instead of being able to get his feet back under him, he merely fell back to the earth hard on his backside and then continued the descent until the back of his head hit the ground.  
  
Oblivion threatened and it was so hard to fight. But he knew they couldn't stay out in the open like this. Elira had passed out in his arms, perhaps from fright, and something about the way her limp fingers were curled up in his shirt made him determined to get them to a safer local. His entire body was trembling as he pushed himself to his feet, and more than once he almost fell as he made his way to the western cliffs of the vale. But he managed the distance before he finally dropped heavily to his knees and lay her in the tall grass under a shallow overhang of rock.  
  
Mere seconds later, he was unconscious beside her in the grass, half-shielding her with his body. 


	29. Talk to Me

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Talk to Me  
  
by thelittletree  
  
In the end, it was the feel of warm air against her neck, the long, settled breaths of sleep, that made Elira throw off the dregs of dizzy fatigue and open her eyes. Nothing felt right for a moment, and it made her panicky. The sun was very firmly in the sky, well past its zenith in fact, and she wasn't in the tent. Vincent was there, clearly unconscious, half-pinning her with his own weight. And her body seemed to ache everywhere.  
  
'Vincent...what happened? Where are we?'  
  
She tried to move a little, to inch out from under him. Her stomach was feeling distinctly uneasy and she felt the need of air. The palm of his metal hand, previously hanging at a limp angle over her shoulder, touched her cheek as she shifted and she couldn't help but flinch a little in surprise. It was cold compared to the tickle of his breath on his skin. Carefully, she fingered the prosthetic until she felt she had a secure enough grip to move it, and then she lifted it away. Vincent gave no sign to say he noticed her efforts and, looking at his face, Elira was fairly sure he was out under the effects of the darts. There was a small line between his eyebrows, as if he'd been frowning when he'd lost consciousness, and she tried to recall the events that might have led to this particular arrangement.  
  
Remembering the walk through the forest inevitably brought her to the memory of the ghostly wolves, and then to Chaos, and to falling despite the firm security of Vincent's arms. She realized that she must've fainted before impact. A quick twitch of every limb told her nothing was broken, and she gazed back into Vincent's face. 'You saved me again,' she told him silently. 'And, god, you smell good.' But it was uncomfortable to have his weight on her like this, and her pack was an uncompromising series of lumps against her back that only seemed to be further irritating her stomach. Slowly, she continued to extricate herself from his sheltering embrace. The feel of his hip bone pushing into her thigh, even through the bulk of his coat, made her suddenly glad he wasn't awake. She knew already this kind of physical awkwardness would've normally had him walled up and walking away before she could even get her feet under her. A few more seconds brought her into a sitting position, propped up on her hands, and she took a few breaths, trying to quell the nausea in her stomach.  
  
The feeling passed after a few clammy, shaky minutes, and then she pulled her sneaker out from under his leg and got to her knees.  
  
It was hard to roll him over, especially when her muscles felt so sore, but she managed it. And once it was done, the presence of the two darts she'd used caught her attention, still in his abdomen. He must not have even had the time to remove them before he'd passed out, she realized, and she pulled them gingerly from both skin and clothing before discarding them in the grass.  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
He made no move to reply.  
  
"Vincent?" She shook his shoulder a little. Another glance at the sky told her they'd both been lying here for a little while. "Vincent, wake up."  
  
He still made no move and she sighed. What would it take? She remembered how motionless he'd remained for Cloud's impromptu surgery and began to wonder if any kind of force could drag him out from under the power of the sedatives. Perhaps she would just have to wait. Though maybe she could try something...  
  
It was done very quickly, and almost without deliberation. She leaned over and pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss. He didn't respond. She raised her eyebrows and sat back again.  
  
"You must really be out of it," she commented aloud with a wry, breathless chuckle. And then she set about making sure they still had everything with them. The tranquilizer gun, of course, was missing, but she eventually found it hidden in the grass of the valley, crumpled up and unusable. Still, she brought it back with her to Vincent's side and sat down to inspect the damage, wondering as her mind went back to the forge if there was any way she might be able to fix it.  
  
She wasn't sure how long Vincent continued to sleep, but it felt like a long time. Eventually, she became hungry enough to warrant going through his packs. When she ran across his supply of books, she gave in to her curiousity and began to look through them.  
  
They were all well-used, and some of them were sans sleeves. A particularly nondescript hard-cover she'd seen him reading before urged her into further exploration. She opened it and began to scan the words. It almost surprised her when she realized it was a novel -- a detective novel, no less.  
  
She smothered an affectionate chuckle. 'Why, Mr. Valentine. I'd always pegged you as a non-fiction kind of guy.' It felt good to have something to laugh about; there was a relief in it after the shock of fear and violence heralded by the wolves, and then the transformation. After a few moments, she put the book back where she'd found it and began to rummage for something to eat. As she withdrew again to sit beside him, already munching away, she realized that his eyes were open. It startled her a little and she gasped; he hadn't given any indication of waking. "Oh, Vincent."  
  
He blinked, looking disoriented. "Elira. Are you all right?"  
  
His voice was low and rough with sleep. Elira smiled privately. "I'm fine. I was a little shaken when I woke up, but now I'm okay. I couldn't remember what had happened."  
  
He seemed to take a moment digesting this, and then he squinted at the sky. "How long have I been asleep?"  
  
"Not sure. A couple of hours maybe." She took another bite of food and considered him as she ate. "Are *you* all right?"  
  
He gave a nod, and then seemed almost to wince. "I think so. Just a little dizzy." And then he pulled his right arm up to cushion his head so that he wouldn't have to crane his neck to look at her. "Were you going through my things?"  
  
The teasingly reproachful question was unexpected and Elira couldn't help a grin. She realized that she'd been waiting for him to stand up and say they had to get moving again, and it was nice to hear the return of that easy tone, even here. It relaxed her. "I didn't realize you were awake." There was something undeniably attractive about the way he was positioned, unconsciously casual and open as if they might've been lounging on a bed. "I was just looking for something to eat and I found your books. An...interesting selection, if I do say so."  
  
A corner of his mouth twitched. "What did you expect to find?"  
  
She thought for a moment and was forced to shrug as she finished eating. "Maybe books about guns, or history. I guess you just seem too...I don't know, austere or something to be reading mystery novels."  
  
He raised an eyebrow and Elira had to scoff a little. "Oh, come on. What am I supposed to think? You do realize that, despite all of this, we still hardly know each other."  
  
His expression became more somber. "Does that bother you?"  
  
The question made her step back and contemplate her answer. "I don't know. Maybe a little." She picked a piece of grass and began to try and tie it into a knot. "Maybe I just wish I knew you better."  
  
There was a pause. "What do you want to know?"  
  
The sudden flood of queries in her mind made her laugh. "I think it would take a long time to go through everything." And then she chewed at her lip. "Okay, what were you like as a child?"  
  
He blinked once, and then again. "I don't remember."  
  
"You don't remember?"  
  
He leveled a look at her. "It was a long time ago."  
  
She waved a hand at him. "That's no excuse. Before he died, my grandfather used to be able to go on for hours about when he was a boy, and he was in his eighties."  
  
Vincent pursed his lips in a facial shrug. "Well, I don't remember. I don't really remember much before Midgar. Just..." He seemed to think for a moment. "Just feelings, mostly, and some images. There was a woman who might've been my mother. I have one memory of her, of being pulled out of a room by the hand and of her closing a door behind me." And then he frowned a little. "It's all very scattered."  
  
Elira felt so comfortable all of a sudden, talking about memories, she almost wanted to lie down beside him, close to his side. But she didn't. She pulled up another piece of grass and tried to tie it onto the other one. It didn't quite want to cooperate, but she stuck at it. "I don't remember much about my mother, either," she told him. "I remember seeing her in the hospital, but that's about it. I don't remember ever seeing her put make-up on, or hearing her laugh. Just when she was sick."  
  
Vincent didn't say anything. She saw his right arm move a little toward her as if he was considering offering some comfort, but the gesture fell short. Elira fumbled one of the strands of grass and lost it in the sea of green around her knees. She heard Vincent take a breath. "Perhaps we should get going."  
  
She nodded and got to her feet. As she picked up the ruined tranquilizer gun, she saw him notice it. "Now it's really obsolete," she quipped, attaching it back to her pack.  
  
He made a small noise that might've been a chuckle if it had been let out any further and began to walk.  
  
It was going on to late afternoon, Elira suspected, as they continued through the forest, though once they were out of the valley it was practically impossible to see the sun. They'd lost a bit of time because of the near-disastrous brush with Chaos and she found herself hoping they reached the end of the trees before night fell again. As they continued slightly uphill, however, it seemed as if there was no end to the dim, muggy, mosquito-infested woods, and she thought she was beginning to actually hate the place.  
  
So, although she was trudging along at Vincent's side on muscle-sore legs, she didn't once request a stop. She didn't want to spent one minute more than she had to in these cursed woods.  
  
The ground only got steeper as they continued, but after an hour when she was starting to feel like she couldn't take another step, it finally leveled out and she could see the trees beginning to thin out ahead. She laughed breathlessly in delight. "Oh, I'll be so glad to get out of here," she said to Vincent.  
  
"You won't be the only one," Vincent replied.  
  
After a few more minutes, however, Elira had to stop. "I can't," she gasped. "I need to rest." She unscrewed the cap to her water bottle and took a few sips, coughing a little at the last trickle of water down her throat.  
  
Vincent nodded and she sat down with her back against a tree. "God, I feel so tired," she muttered. "I think it was all of the running and the bursts of adrenaline; I'm just worn out. I'm glad we're almost there."  
  
Vincent nodded again and, facing north, leaned against the bark of a trunk with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. "It shouldn't be more than half an hour," he said quietly. "We should be able to see the city soon."  
  
The obvious topic was the impending uncertainty of his death, assuming they could find whatever it was that could help him, but Elira avoided it steadfastly. "Good." And then she pursed her lips, thinking. "What will we do when Chaos tries again?"  
  
Vincent shrugged a little without looking at her. "Put me out," he answered, "and then wait for me to wake up. I don't think there's much beyond that we can do."  
  
"Those wolves..." She cleared her throat a little. "We haven't run into them again. I think they were made by Chaos."  
  
He dropped his eyes to the ground a moment before glancing at her. "I didn't realize he might be able to use the latent power here," he admitted as if the statement required an apology. "At least, not to the extent he did. The Sleeping Forest has never looked upon non-Cetra intruders very favourably, and he must have suspected. That may be why he was so still on the way over here."  
  
"Conserving his strength," Elira muttered. And then she grimaced a little. "Its," she corrected herself. "Its strength." Vincent was smiling a little, she noticed, and she smiled too. "What?"  
  
He merely shook his head and turned to look north again. After another minute, Elira got to her feet. "Okay, let's get this done," she said.  
  
Vincent nodded and pushed himself from the tree. As they resumed walking, a sudden thought made Elira chuckle. "You know," she began, "I just realized. Chaos had the perfect chance to screw up this entire journey, but it didn't. It could have flown a thousand miles away, but it stayed to try and kill me."  
  
Vincent turned his head to look at her. "You're right," he said, and then his lips twitched with amusement. "How interesting. I imagine it will kick itself later for not taking advantage of the opportunity."  
  
Elira grinned. And then, with a quick nibble of her lip, she did something she'd been tempted to do more times than she could count. She reached out and slipped her hand into his gloved one. Vincent stiffened slightly at her side, but he made no other verbal or physical objection. She tightened her grip a little on his fingers and something in her warmed at more than just the contact when he squeezed back.  
  
The trees were soon giving way to sky and larger patches of meadow the way clouds melt away in the sun. Elira smiled as they crested one more small hill and the Forgotten City, in all of its barren beauty, was finally revealed. From here she could see that it had been built, like Neo-Midgar, into particular sectors divided by prominent roads. The buildings were luminescent, gleaming like polished porcelain, and they seemed to curve into themselves like sea-shells. Providing a backdrop to the city was a range of low, jutting peaks that she imagined must have once supplied a harshness to contrast with the gentle splendor of the architecture. As it was now, however, the mountains only highlighted the war-ravaged age of the structures, leaving viewers with a desolate kind of awe for the extinct race and the expired magnificence of their home.  
  
Elira turned to Vincent, smiling. "We made it," she breathed. And then she gazed out over the greatest secret of the Northern Continent. "It's so beautiful."  
  
"Yes." She sensed it when he moved to look at her and something in his eyes made her heart ache and the blood rush to her face. "Very beautiful." 


	30. A Question of Life and Death

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Question of Life and Death  
  
by thelittletree  
  
They picked their way down into the Forgotten City and Vincent was all but helpless to keep himself from watching Elira as she eagerly drank in the pale, destroyed beauty around her. Flushed and wide-eyed with wonder, she gazed the way he'd seen her do in the Odriam museum, completely captivated, and something about that fascinated him. The gleam in her eyes, the way she parted her lips as if the sights were making her short of breath.  
  
Gods, she was beautiful.  
  
The presence of her hand in his warmed him, a quiet gesture of friendship and comfort, and maybe like a kind of claim on her part. But the contact, even through his glove, was impossible to take for granted. It was easier to ignore the flame of desire when they weren't touching; but now, whether he wanted to or not, he found himself tuned in to the movements of her body as she walked. Steadfastly, he averted his eyes and concentrated on the road, but it was a futile effort. After a moment, he considered just pulling his hand away from hers, but that would probably hurt her feelings. And he'd already spent enough time doing that. He cleared his throat. "Elira..."  
  
He wondered if she might have recognized the tone of his voice. With a quick, apologetic smile into his face, she took her hand back and used her fingers to sweep a few curls behind an ear. "Where should we go from here?" she asked, and she managed to sound suitably unassuming.  
  
He was grateful she hadn't made him spell it out. "Your lunch companion in Bone Village mentioned the crystal. That may be a place to start."  
  
"Mm." Elira nodded. "But, he didn't tell me where it was, really. Just the north end of the city."  
  
"I know where it is." The image of the Cetra 'temple' came to mind, hidden in a manmade cave, and he remembered the key they'd used to tap into the crystal's power. They didn't have a key now, but maybe there would be another way.  
  
Elira raised her eyebrows. "Avalanche?" When he nodded, she gave a coaxing smile. "Will you tell me about Avalanche?"  
  
He gave a mock sigh of long-suffering. "What do you want to know?"  
  
Elira was grinning. "Everything. Everything they didn't say in the papers, or on the news. But mostly about how you got involved with them. You and Barret..." She pursed her lips a little. "Well, you didn't seem on very good terms."  
  
Vincent let his mind travel back ten years, to memories he often had little reason to recall. "I was involved purely by accident," he admitted. And then he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her reaction. "The man you met in Kalm, Cloud, found me in a coffin in Nibelheim."  
  
She turned to him, startled. "A coffin?"  
  
He nodded again. "That's where I was from the time Hojo...finished with me."  
  
Elira's frown faded a little as she became thoughtful. And then she murmured, "That's thirty years."  
  
"Roughly," Vincent agreed. "I ended up going with Avalanche in the hopes of getting revenge on Hojo for Lucrecia's death. Which I eventually did."  
  
She was shaking her head, and he thought her expression seemed both sympathetic and confused. "Vincent, how can you just..." She stopped, searching for the words. "I don't understand how you can be so calm about this," she eventually continued. "About what Hojo did to you," she clarified after a moment.  
  
He'd begun to think of it as his last secret, since she now knew about the other aspects of his shameful past. "As you said," he started quietly, "we still know very little about each other." She didn't know about the Turks, and he planned to keep it that way. "But I've had cause to believe I deserved it."  
  
She was silent for a moment. "Is this about Midgar?"  
  
He was surprised she'd made the connection. "Yes," he answered, but quickly added, "I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"Okay."  
  
As he drifted into his own thoughts, he began to recognize how long it had been since Chaos had been in his mind. Certainly longer than the sedative could account for. "Elira?"  
  
She glanced at him questioningly from where she'd been staring at a the crumbling wall of a building.  
  
"Could you give me two of the darts?"  
  
She took a sudden breath and her expression became alert. Vincent shook his head to reassure her. "He's being very quiet, and could be conserving his strength for one last transformation. I want to be ready."  
  
Elira nodded and reached into one of the pockets. And then she gave a small laugh. "Actually, you can have your coat back if you want. There aren't any mosquitoes here." She pulled out of her packs and then slipped her arms from the sleeves. "Here."  
  
Under the bulk of his coat, she was just as slender and attractive as he remembered. He made a conscious effort to keep his eyes on her face as he took the garment. "Thank you." He removed his own gear to put it back on, and then readied two darts in his hand. It wasn't until they started walking again that he noticed her scent on the material. 'Dear gods...' He briefly closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, struggling against the sudden heat in his body. 'If we manage this -- if I live -- I swear I'm going to take her somewhere secluded to...'  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
He quickly opened his eyes. "I'm fine. Let's get going."  
  
They managed a few steps before she continued, "You just...look a little flushed."  
  
He felt a pang of shame at having been caught with his thoughts, but when he glanced at Elira there was a small, knowing smile playing around the corners of her mouth. And, gods help him if something about it didn't make his knees feel weak. She was *teasing* him. His own lips twitched despite himself. "Elira," he said in a warning tone.  
  
She laughed a little and there was a blush growing on her own face. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "You're right, we should get going."  
  
It felt like it took a lot of strength to turn away from her and continue along the road. But in the end, however unwilling, he managed it. Elira followed beside him, still captivated by the city. And he watched her intermittently out of the corner of his eye.  
  
The streets and buildings seemed completely deserted, but it wasn't long before Vincent was picking up the sounds of other people, excavators he thought, working not far away. The structures, however, kept them out of sight until the sounds dwindled again. And then they were approaching a place on the north end that Vincent remembered. When they arrived at the foothills of the mountain, at the mouth of a cave, he stopped Elira with a gesture and unholstered his gun.  
  
"Just to be sure," he told her.  
  
He stepped into the shadows of the cave and moved forward silently. The other end of the passage let him out into a room he recognized. Large and open, like a dome of rock, it was surrounded on all sides by pillars and winding stone walkways. The center was completely hollowed out except for the tall, graceful dais on which the crystal sat, and the catwalk leading to it. Above him, in the ceiling of the chamber, a hole was letting in the light of the late afternoon sun. He holstered his gun and turned to the cave. "It's all right, Elira." His voice echoed around him.  
  
She came into the room and then stopped dead a few feet behind him, staring around at everything. "This is amazing," she breathed.  
  
And it was, he thought, as the only place in all of the Forgotten City that had not been destroyed. But it was slowly and inexorably falling into ruin, and many of the walkways were narrow and without any kind of a guardrail. With a thought to how far a drop it was to the bottom, he turned and held out his hand for Elira to take. He didn't want to risk having her slip and fall.  
  
Elira noticed the gesture and smiled as she approached.  
  
And Chaos made its final move. Vincent had been expecting it, and the darts were ready in his metal fingers. But there had been no warning, no voice in his head, and the pain made him crumple to the stone floor. The demon was trying to force itself to the surface all at once, and he could feel the changes in his body even as his ears and teeth grew, even as the wings tore out of his back. Elira was crying out, though if she was speaking words they were completely lost on him.  
  
His arms were his own, and yet not his own, and it took so much force to try and move them. He only had a few seconds, he knew, but if he could just get the needles of the darts through his skin...  
  
'You lossse, human!' His left hand twitched without his permission and one of the darts dropped out of his grip and rolled away. Vincent watched in dismay as it circled to the edge of the walkway and toppled over.  
  
Chaos was laughing, and with the transformation nearly complete he could feel that laughter coming out of his own mouth. Desperately, he pushed with his own will until he knew he was reaching his mental limit. But his arm -- the demon's arm -- was moving. He gave one last shove and, as if it had used up the last of his resources, he felt himself begin to black out.  
  
But not before he felt the familiar pin-prick of pain in his thigh. It was only one dart; he didn't know how long it would last or what would happen when he woke up -- would Chaos automatically be there in his mind? -- but it was the best he could do for now. He hoped it had been enough...  
  
***  
  
It all happened so quickly, Elira almost didn't have time to react before Vincent was transforming. He was having trouble, she realized, getting his body to obey as he struggled with the demon, and she yanked her arms out of her pack to get at her own small supply of the darts. When she looked back up, however, he was changing back into the incongruously dark and pale man she knew and slumping to the rock beneath him. Quickly, she ran to him and managed to support his head a moment before he hit.  
  
'God, that was close.' She moved Vincent until he was lying comfortably, or as comfortably as was possible, and gently pushed the hair from his face. His expression showed a kind of exhausted pain, what you might expect to see on a man who had spent his last moments of life in agony, and she almost wanted to check his pulse. But he was breathing shallowly and she squeezed his limp hand a moment before standing to look around. 'Okay, now what, Vincent? You're the one who's been here before.'  
  
Her eyes were inevitably drawn the crystal. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw something flicker in its depths as if it could sense her gaze. For a moment she stood chewing on her lip, and then she glanced back down at Vincent before leaving his side.  
  
A walkway led her around to a narrow catwalk that bridged the space between the walls and the dais. Elira peered over the edge at the drop below her and then quickly straightened up. Just looking was making her dizzy. After a few seconds, she clenched her teeth and started across, steadfastly refusing to look down. 'Oh, Vincent,' she thought to herself. 'The things I do for you. I think I'm going to insist that you make up for all of this when it's over. And maybe more than once.' The idea made her smile a little as she stepped onto the dais.  
  
The crystal was a perfect sphere and Elira marveled that even the Cetra had been able to create something so flawless. She hesitated a moment before putting out a hand to touch it. It surprised her when she realized it was warm. People had claimed to hear voices from it, she recalled, but right now she wasn't hearing anything. With a frown, she took her hand away and glanced around the room. So, what was she supposed to do? They were here. What happened now?  
  
Some markings on the crystal's pedestal made her go in for a closer look. She gasped a little when she recognized them as Cetra ideograms. It wasn't really a wonder that something this ceremonial had been inscribed with words -- a prayer, a bit of scripture, a doxology maybe -- but the thought that the words might say something helpful made her slip hastily out of her pack and dig around for the lexicon. When she finally came up with it she plunked herself down on the rock and started translating.  
  
Many of the ideograms were familiar, but it was still hard-going, especially without anything to write the sentences down with. She kept forgetting previous words and having to go back. Eventually, however, despite setbacks the meaning started to come clear.  
  
It was like a history of the Cetra Chosen One: a brief introduction of his origins, some of his teachings, and some about the power he'd wielded called 'Holy'. This power, it went on, he gave to the Cetra after his death so that they could battle evil in any form. As the Cetra people bred with the humans, the strength of their power became less and less; but, in order to keep Holy on the planet, the Chosen One decided to make the power available to any who needed it.  
  
Elira winced as a tooth bit a little too hard into her lip, but she just as quickly forgot about the pain. This was something. If the power had been made available to anyone, they only had to find out how to tap into it. 'Only,' she repeated to herself with a dry scoff. 'Nothing else about this journey has been easy; why should this be?' The next few sentences she translated started into what looked like a kind of genealogy. With a soft curse, she scanned downward, looking for more familiar words that sounded helpful.  
  
She soon discovered more ideograms on other parts of the pedestal. Shifting carefully, she made her way around the dais and continued her translating. She wasn't sure how long she spent on her knees, flipping hastily through the glossary of words at the back of the lexicon, but it seemed like a long time before she came across the symbol that meant 'demon'. With a pang of hope, she pressed onward despite her aching eyes and stiff shoulders. "Please, oh please, tell us what to do," she found herself muttering under her breath.  
  
The passage came together slowly. 'Yenowa's power made her the queen of demons, but Holy gave the Chosen One power over her and all of her subjects. When Yenowa was sealed away by the Chosen One, her demons were let loose to their own wills. There were many possessions in that time, but Holy was able to cure the possessed man and child. Therefore, if any suffer from possession, speak the words of freedom and they will be saved.'  
  
Elira realized that her fingers were trembling. The pages slipped again and again out of her grasp.  
  
'You must cast the evil out of the body in the power of Holy.' Elira kept translating for another few minutes, but that seemed to be all there was concerning demons. Was that it? Just to cast the demon out? It couldn't be that easy, could it? It was just words!  
  
She heard a rustle of clothing and glanced up in time to see Vincent getting unsteadily to his feet. She blinked in surprise. It hadn't been that long since he'd tranquilized himself. She was about to beckon him over and ask him what he thought about what she'd found, but another moment showed her that he was trembling. Concerned, she pulled herself up. "Vincent?" she called across the gap between them. "Are you all right?"  
  
He turned to look at her and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. His eyes were completely red. "Elira..." He was trying to put a hand into his pocket, but his movements were getting more unsteady by the second. "Only one dart...it wasn't enough..." His voice was breathless and strained. Suddenly, he hunched over with his hands to his ears.  
  
For a moment, Elira felt frozen to the spot. How could he be transforming again so soon? And then she snapped herself out of her thoughts and made a desperate grab for two darts before racing across the catwalk. She thought she'd never moved so fast in her life.  
  
But Chaos was already working to burst through Vincent's defenses, and previously weakened, Vincent didn't stand much of a chance. He lurched and gave a cry as the wings broke out of his skin for a second time; after that, the rest of the changes didn't take very long. Elira cursed in anger and fear as the last of the demon appeared and then held out its arms as if she might run right into them. It took her a precious second or two to reverse her trajectory, and then she was running back the way she had come. This was not the place to try and stop Chaos. There wasn't room on these walkways! But she had little other choice. Vincent wasn't in any shape to fight the demon from the inside -- though she expected he would give it all he had -- so it was up to her to save her own life.  
  
Though she had less space now than she'd had in the forest, and it was unlikely Chaos would dally again.  
  
She wasn't sure what led her back to the dais, though she could've blamed it on panicking stupidity. Once she was there, she realized belatedly that she'd just cornered herself and went to turn around. But Chaos was coming up quickly to the catwalk and there was no other way off. She cursed in her mind even as she gave a gasping sob, knowing she shouldn't have taken for granted that the tranquilizers would keep the demon subdued. And knowing the chances of surviving this time were incredibly slim, and getting slimmer. Right at the end, too. She cringed as she felt inopportune tears throbbing behind her eyes. Fate certainly had led them on a merry chase, and only to crush them at the finish line.  
  
Chaos was hissing out its laughter as it moved along the catwalk at an unhurried pace. "Now where will you run, little one?" it asked her, leering in sadistic amusement. "What makesss thisss even sssweeter is that I know I *could* fly a thousssand milesss away. But thisss time, there isss no way for you to ssstop me." It chuckled. "Ssso, I'm going to kill you firssst ssso that Vincsssent can torture himssself with the memory for eternity. Ah yesss, ssso sssweet."  
  
Elira glanced over the edge of the dais and felt her stomach recoil as she considered jumping. It would be a better death than Chaos was going to give her. And then she wanted to smack herself. 'Cast it out!' her mind cried. 'Cast the demon out!' So she took a shaky breath and shouted, "I cast you out of him in the power of Holy!"  
  
Chaos' laughter became like the ominous rumble of an approaching landslide. "Ussselesss!" it roared, and its voice echoed around her. "I'm too ssstrong, even for the Ancientsss! There'sss nothing you can do!"  
  
It felt suddenly like the entire journey had been for nothing. They'd tried, they'd gotten this far, and the Cetra couldn't help them. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!  
  
'But demons always lie...'  
  
Elira thought about this and wiped her tearing eyes on the sleeve of her jacket. To save him, Vincent needed her to keep believing, and to save her own life she needed her wits right now. She couldn't let herself believe Chaos. This hadn't all been in vain; there was still something she could do -- she just had to find it.  
  
So, what could she do in the meantime? The demon had to be subdued. Maybe, if it started circling the pedestal, she might have the opportunity to stick the darts into its back. Or maybe she'd be able to get to the catwalk and find a better place, outside, to fight this battle. Determined again, she sidled over to shield herself behind the crystal as Chaos finally set a clawed foot on the dais.  
  
It was grinning at her, a very unpleasant expression. "You ssstill want to play, human? How entertaining. But I'm getting tired of gamesss. It'sss time to finisssh thisss. Come." It hissed out a chuckle. "Come to your dear Vincsssent."  
  
Elira gripped the darts tighter. "Come and get me." Her voice was trembling.  
  
But her fear seemed to excite the demon. It hissed in anticipation as it came further onto the dais and tried to grab for her around the pedestal. She managed to scoot out of the way on numb legs, though the idea that there was a looming edge beside her made her more cautious than quick. The demon tried to come at her from the other direction and she jumped back again. She was cornered, she realized. Chaos wasn't going to give her any advantage or let her escape. She felt panic start to take over her mind.  
  
'God, oh God, help me!'  
  
And, like an answered prayer, help came. Without warning, the crystal began to glow -- not gradually like a sunrise, but all at once as if a light switch had been triggered. Elira cried out and covered her eyes, and she could hear the demon groaning in pain.  
  
//Bind the demon.//  
  
It was a voice. A woman's voice, she thought, and one who was used to being both kind and obeyed.  
  
//You must bind the demon first. In the power of Holy, bind it.//  
  
And then the light was gone. There were spots in front of Elira's eyes and she hastily tried to rub them away. Chaos was growling nearby and she thought it sounded frustrated. Was it having the same problem? Eventually, she gave up on regaining all of her sight and shouted, "I bind you in the power..."  
  
The rest was cut off, however, as Chaos lunged at her. "Don't sssay that!" it screeched.  
  
Elira jumped out of the way again, but as she came down, her eyes drawn inevitably to the catwalk that was now completely unguarded, her foot landed on an edge of the lexicon Leo had given her. Desperately, she windmilled her arms as she lost her balance, but it was no use. She fell backward, so close to the rim of the dais she could see the drop closer than she ever would've wished. For a moment, she couldn't move, frozen in shock as she stared at the stone floor so far down. And then the demon was there, standing over her, laughing. "Ssstupid..." it began.  
  
But Elira interrupted. "I bind you in the power of..."  
  
"No!" Chaos kicked her suddenly the way one would kick something dangerous away from themselves. And Elira was sent rolling over the edge feet first. With a desperate gasp she threw out her arms, trying to grab something. Her fingers found the rim and she held on with every ounce of her will, even as her hands started to cramp and her arms began to ache. "I bind you in the power of Holy!" she cried out breathlessly.  
  
Elira couldn't see anything except the underside of the dais and the drop below her, but she heard Chaos' scream of rage and fear echoing around the dome. And for a moment, there was nothing, and she wondered what had happened. Had the demon turned back into Vincent? Was Vincent unconscious? She couldn't hold herself here for very much longer, and she didn't have the upper body strength to pull herself up more than a couple of inches. The fingers of one hand suddenly started spasming and she gave a sob through her teeth as she lost her grip with them. One hand wouldn't hold her...  
  
'Vincent...I'm sorry...'  
  
And then Vincent was there with one boot on the edge to support his weight as he grabbed her wrist. There was a determined grimace on his face as he pulled her up, and she gave a cry of pain as fire shot through her arm.  
  
"Use your other hand," Vincent ordered her in a rasp. "Grab the edge!"  
  
She did as he said, and then he bent down carefully until he was crouching before her. Her fingers were smarting again and her arm was still burning. "Vincent..." she whimpered to him, hoping to get him to hurry.  
  
"Shh," he told her quickly. "I've got you. Now, take my hand." He held out his prosthetic for her to take.  
  
She stared at it, not sure she could let go of the edge. But Vincent wouldn't let her fall. He wouldn't ask her to do anything that he thought she couldn't do. With an exclamation of effort, she let go of the edge and grabbed onto the cold metal of his hand.  
  
"Good," Vincent told her. "I'm going to pull you up and, as soon as you can, put your feet up here." He began to haul her upward, making sure to move smoothly so not to disjoint her shoulders, and eventually she could bend her knees and put her sneakers on the rim. After this, the rest was comparatively easy, and then she was in Vincent's arms, sobbing out of trauma and relief.  
  
His embrace was so tight around her and she could feel him trembling as she cried into his shoulder. When she raised her head a few minutes later, he withdrew a little to look into her face. And what happened next seemed so natural and necessary that it didn't matter where they were.  
  
Elira wasn't sure who moved first, but they were suddenly kissing and the rush it gave her felt so good, like an affirmation of life. Frantic for more, she pulled at the edges of his coat, yanked his shirt from where he had it tucked into his pants. Vincent gasped once, and then he was hefting her into his arms to lay her on the stone of the dais. "Elira," he breathed into the skin of her neck. "Elira."  
  
'Please, Vincent, please...' she found herself pleading voicelessly. 'Don't run away again.'  
  
There was no reason, or time, to remove all of their clothing. The stone of the dais was cold against naked skin, but it didn't matter. They were making love and the universe had shrunk down until they were the only two people in it. Gasps and moans echoed off of the temple walls as if calling back to be recognized before they dissipated.  
  
Blood pounded through Elira's veins, oxygen shared with Vincent went in and out of her lungs, her body moved and felt pleasure and building tension. She felt so alive, and she couldn't accept that this might be the last time she would ever feel this way in his arms. They'd come through so much, they'd made it here against all odds, fate couldn't take him away now. Their struggles had to count for something, her love for him had to tip the scales in their favour.  
  
'Please, don't take him away. I helped him here, his life belongs to me and I give it back to him...'  
  
All coherent thoughts fled from her as the universe trembled, trembled, exploded around her and through her. The dome resonated with sound and feeling and life. And then Vincent was moving to lay beside her. She rolled into his arms and buried her fingers in his shirt, breathing in the musk of his skin.  
  
"I love you," she whispered, and admitting it to him brought a release of its own.  
  
For a moment as Vincent held her, his arms tightening around her and his lips in her hair, she felt things would be all right. It was hard to think otherwise when she felt so warm and relaxed and secure. But then he was drawing away from her to sit up. Elira followed him with her eyes, wondering at his thoughts. She hadn't expected him to reciprocate her confession, but she questioned how it was making him feel. Happy? Guilty? Confused? When he turned to her, his hands already moving to straighten his clothing, she thought she could see remorse in his eyes, and fear. Slowly, she pulled herself up beside him and struggled with her own clothes. "What are you thinking?" she asked him quietly.  
  
He closed his eyes and took a breath. "I want you to promise me that you'll leave if I die."  
  
She couldn't help but scoff a little. This was what was bothering him? "Vincent, I already said I would."  
  
He looked at her pointedly. "But that was before..." And then he hesitated and made a hasty gesture with his hand.  
  
"Before I said I love you?"  
  
His expression softened and he began to tremble again. "Oh, Elira." He pushed his fingers under the bandana. "You don't know how much..." He stopped suddenly, looking slightly desperate. "I don't want you to grieve, Elira. I want you to go back to Neo-Midgar."  
  
"You're making it sound like there's no chance you'll live through this."  
  
But he wasn't to be deterred. "Promise me, Elira."  
  
She scoffed again, irrationally angry at him. "Can't you pretend for two minutes that you're not going to die?"  
  
"Promise me!" His eyes were bright and his tone was harsh with emotion.  
  
And Elira felt the tears of a possible grief start to bubble to the surface. "No, you're not going to die!" she told him firmly. "Stop saying it."  
  
"Elira..."  
  
She clapped a hand over his mouth. "No, Vincent! Stop!" Her voice cracked with a sob and she wiped impatiently at her tears. "Stop being so realistic for a second, dammit! Please..." She felt her anger begin to drain out of her as the wall of denial started to crumble and she took her hand back. "Please," she continued, feeling too weary to speak much above a whisper. "I need to hear something else. I know the chances, but please. Just..." She cast around for words. "Just tell me what we're going to do when we leave here."  
  
His eyes radiated a regretful kind of pity, but he eventually nodded. "All right." He got to his feet and then held out his hand to help her up. When they were both standing, he pulled her into his arms and began to speak in a soft voice that made her feel close to tears again. "We'll go back to Bone Village," he told her. "We may have to wait a little while for the barge, so...I imagine we'll have to get a room at an inn." He paused for a moment and she heard him swallow. "I'll work, if need be, to keep the room." He hesitated again and she thought she felt a tremor in his arms. "And..." He frowned. "And..."  
  
"We'll eat all sorts of good things so you can taste them again," Elira continued for him, wanting to prolong the fantasy. "Room service can bring us whatever we want. And we'll go for walks in the evening so you can teach me how to keep my balance in a tree. And..." Her lips tried to smile. "...and we'll make love at least twice a day."  
  
Vincent's shoulders shuddered with a silent, short-lived chuckle. "Yes, that's what we'll do."  
  
"Good." She leaned her head against his collarbone. "And I promise to leave if you die, though you're not going to."  
  
"Elira..."  
  
But she put her fingers to his mouth again. "Shh. Please."  
  
She felt him sigh and then he withdrew from her. "All right." His expression became resigned and she knew he was preparing to get on with it. "I heard you try to cast Chaos out, and then you...bound him."  
  
She took a calming breath and nodded, trying to become all-business. "I heard a voice out of the crystal telling me to bind the demon," she told him. "Believe me, I know it sounds crazy, but that's what happened. I got the idea to cast him out from the Cetra ideograms." She pointed at the pedestal and then glanced around for the lexicon. She found it not far away, where it had skidded to after she'd stepped on it. "Leo gave me this," she answered the unspoken question as she straightened, brushing the book off. "I've actually gotten pretty good at the translating."  
  
Vincent glanced at the book and then back into her eyes. "I'm glad I brought you along," he said suddenly, and there was a hint of humour in his expression.  
  
Elira smiled at him and shook her head. "Yeah, I'm sure glad you didn't listen to me when I tried to let you go alone." She ran her fingers over the cover and then pursed her lips. "Well, anyway, I think with the demon bound it can probably be cast out now."  
  
Vincent gave a nod and a long silence followed. The afternoon was slowly fading into evening and it would be dark soon, Elira realized. Finally, she stirred with a breath and put the book down. "I guess we should do it."  
  
"Yes." But he was staring across the room. Elira wondered if he was afraid. Unobtrusively, she reached out and took his hand. He glanced at her and a corner of his mouth twitched. "Thank you," he told her suddenly. "You realize I wouldn't have made it this far without you."  
  
"I know," she told him, trying to smile. When it contorted with tears she turned away.  
  
But Vincent moved to tip her chin back to him with a metal finger. "Elira, I'm sorry," he told her quietly. "If there was another way..."  
  
"But there isn't," she finished thickly. "I guess I could ask you to...to stay with me, with Chaos bound inside of you, but..." She wiped at her eyes again. "...but if the Cetra power is fading, this might be your last chance, right?"  
  
His eyebrows twitched downward. "I suppose. And if I gave up this chance, you would grow old and die eventually, and I would be alone again, forever."  
  
Elira winced. "So, there really is no other way." She stepped forward to hold him again, and he let her. "Well, good-bye, just in case. Though I'm also going to say 'See you again in a minute.'"  
  
He smiled at her, nearly a full smile, and leaned down to kiss her. It was gentle and filled with an affection he would never have voiced. And then he withdrew. "Good-bye, Elira." He moved a few feet from her and gave a nod to say he was ready.  
  
She chewed on her lip and then took a breath. "In the power of Holy, I cast Chaos out of your body."  
  
It was surprising what power words could hold. Like a growing storm cloud, a black shadow started to gather over Vincent's head, and as it grew Vincent clenched his teeth and doubled over in obvious pain. Elira watched, squeezing her hands together in worry and not sure if she should approach. And then the shadow was wailing in terror, fighting and swirling against something until it was finally sucked out of the air.  
  
As if the strings holding him up had been cut, Vincent fell to the stone dais in an unmoving heap. Fearing the worst, Elira ran to him and rolled him onto his back. "Vincent! Vincent!"  
  
The sound of his name made him open his eyes, and after a moment his pupils focused on her. She grinned as tears started to track down her face, and this time she didn't bother to wipe them away. His eyes...they'd changed. Without the demon, they were a beautiful slate gray.  
  
His breathing was a little staggered, but he managed to twitch his lips at her. And then his expression crumpled with pain and he began to shudder beside her. A moment later, he opened his mouth with a gasp, as if something had startled him, and then he sighed it back out again, slowly. After that, he didn't move.  
  
Elira stared in horror and, trembling, she put a hand to his neck, feeling for a pulse.  
  
It was there, but it was thready and slow. And it became slower as she kept her fingers there.  
  
Until it finally stopped. 


	31. The Reckoning

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Thirty: The Reckoning  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Trembling in mute shock, Elira kept her fingers on the place where his pulse had been only moments ago as if waiting for it to come back. And then her lungs began to heave with hoarse, heavy breaths that hurt her chest. Quickly, she put a hand to her mouth to stop the echoing noise, but she couldn't repress it. There was no stopping this. There was no way to deny what was so obvious. Vincent was dead.  
  
The breaths turned into sharp, painful sobs and throbbing, scalding tears began to trickle from her eyes. It hurt...oh, it hurt...and she realized that she was rocking on her knees and moaning. "No...no...please, no." It couldn't be real. It was just another nightmare. She would wake up in a minute and everything would be all right. She would realize they were still in the forest, still in Costa Del Sol, and the agony inside would fade away with relief. Desperately, she shut her eyes.  
  
When she opened them again, however, he was still the same. Though his eyes were open, they were dull and unfocused, staring at the ceiling. She clenched her teeth, but it wasn't enough to hold back the harsh wail of grief that burst from her throat. Her body shook with the force of it and, like a tree cut from the base, she collapsed toward him, squeezing the material of his shirt in her fists until she could feel her nails cutting into her palms. "Vincent, please..." It didn't sound like her voice, broken and tremulous. Wisps of it came back to her from the walls as the temple wept with her. "Please, come back. You can't...you can't leave me here."  
  
His body was still warm. For a moment, she was back in his apartment, on the floor of his bedroom, crying at his side because he'd taken those pills. But this time there was no heart beating under her ear, no breath to feel with her hand, no reason to hope. He'd told her there was a good chance this would happen. Without the strength of the demon, his body had no strength of its own to support life. She should have prepared herself better, some distant part of her mind recognized. She should have begun to accept the possibility, the very real possibility that he would not survive. But she hadn't wanted to believe that he would die. She hadn't expected it to turn out this way.  
  
'Oh Vincent, it wasn't supposed to be this way...'  
  
The agony threatened to break her, snapping the supports of a bridge that was straining under too much weight. She'd promised...she'd promised him that she would leave, but her mind balked at the idea of getting up from his body, of trying to make the journey back alone. She wasn't even sure her legs would carry her. Halfway through the Sleeping Forest she would trip over something and, with no one to catch her, she would simply never get up again. She couldn't do it by herself, and she couldn't imagine just leaving him here, unburied. But the thought of putting him in the ground made her feel sick to her stomach with dread. It wasn't right. *This* wasn't right. This couldn't...  
  
This couldn't be the way it was supposed to end.  
  
Because every time...  
  
Elira opened her eyes as something she had probably been in the process of realizing for weeks suddenly came to the fore. Every time they'd run into trouble *something* had helped them. *Something* had brought him into her shop looking for a job all those months ago, and she was starting to doubt the power of coincidence: in Kalm, Vincent had landed mere feet from the home of someone who could help them; when they'd been running out of gil Tifa had offered her villa in Costa Del Sol; Leo had taught her how to translate the Cetra language and had even given her the lexicon that had ended up being so crucial to the journey. They couldn't all have been happy flukes. *Something* had always made things work. As long as they'd kept trying, things had turned out.  
  
So it stood to reason that there was still something she could do.  
  
Like recalling something from a previous life, a memory began to surface: swimming lessons in the ocean near Kalm. Leaning over Eagan, her first crush at seventeen, queasy with excitement as she'd prepared to bring their lips together for CPR.  
  
She had to close Vincent's eyes before she could manage it, and then she was breathing into his mouth the way she remembered and pushing on his chest. She wasn't completely sure she was doing it right, with trembling hands and hitching lungs, but there was a blessed relief in having some hope again, no matter how desperate the hope. "C'mon, c'mon," she realized she was muttering thickly as she thrust upward with the ball of her palm. "You -- fate or God or whatever -- you listen to me. You've gotten us this far and I'm not quitting now. I'm going to keep trying like I've been trying all along, so you have to acknowledge it this time, too. It's only fair. You have to give him back." Not much of a prayer, she thought. And then she closed her eyes, still able to feel the dew of tears on her lashes. "Please, give him back."  
  
After a few minutes, she was becoming light-headed, but she didn't allow herself to stop. It had to work. It had to. Because maybe Vincent had been right. Maybe there was a Fate. But maybe it wasn't the way he'd always thought. She didn't doubt that it probably had power over life and death, and perhaps it even had the future written out. But Elira couldn't help believing now that every person had more than one fate, dependent on the choices they made.  
  
And she'd chosen the future where Vincent was fated to live.  
  
***  
  
Vincent's last moments of life were filled with pain and the knowledge that, though it was trying its best, his body was shutting down. His lungs fluttered, his heart pumped erratically. Elira's face, smiling beautifically a moment before, twisted with horror as he shuddered.  
  
And then suddenly, like being hit from behind, he was being pushed out with a gasp.  
  
When he came to himself a moment later, he was standing in a meadow. Wild and lush with life, it seemed more real somehow than anywhere he'd ever been before. Hastily, he glanced around, wondering how he'd gotten here. There was no sound -- no birds, no wind in the tall grass -- but the smell of earth and flowers was everywhere, and the field seemed to stretch out for miles in every direction without any sign of human habitation. Bewildered, he took a step. He felt the ground solidly under his boots and heard his clothing shift as he moved. Finally, he looked down at himself, surprised to realize how healthy he felt.  
  
Everything seemed to be in order. He was in his coat, in his wrinkled shirt and pants, and his holster was still around his waist with the Peacemaker at his hip. But there was a difference, though he didn't notice it for a couple of seconds. So long hated, and then taken for granted, the claw Hojo had installed usually received no more than a glance. But without the flash of gold beneath his cuff, he was forced to take a closer look. Quickly, he raised his arm, and was surprised when he didn't feel the pull of its weight. And then he simply stared.  
  
Fingers. Flesh fingers, and there was the scar on his knuckle from the day Lucrecia had broken a beaker and accidentally cut him. For a moment, he couldn't react. It was his left arm, the one Hojo had removed and replaced, but how...? And then, he was suddenly moving his right hand to push up his sleeve, to touch his own skin. It was real, and he could feel forgotten muscles, whole and strong, as he rolled his wrist. But, this...this was impossible.  
  
"Vincent."  
  
It was a woman's voice. Startled, he whirled around, the Peacemaker already in his hand. How could someone have come up behind him without alerting him?  
  
But there was no one. Frowning, he took another wary look around. "Who's there?" he demanded firmly.  
  
"Don't tell me you've forgotten?" And then someone was standing to his left as if she hadn't just appeared. Young and small in a pink dress with brown, braided hair and bright eyes, she stood with her hands clasped behind her back and smiled at him; a patient smile, he thought. But then, all of her smiles had seemed patient, as if she'd been perpetually waiting for something.  
  
"Aeris?"  
  
She grinned. "You do remember." She stepped toward him, as real as if she'd stepped out of his memory, and bent gracefully to pick a flower at her feet. "You can put your gun away, Vincent. No one's going to hurt you here."  
  
As she straightened back up he forced himself to holster his weapon. "Where am I?" he asked her, wondering if he was possibly dreaming. Or delusional.  
  
Aeris sniffed the purple bloom in her hand and smiled again, her face lighting up with the gesture. "Not where you're supposed to be, yet. This is the Promised Land." And then she threw the blossom toward him.  
  
It landed at his feet and he watched in astonishment as it effortlessly rooted itself again in the grass. Slowly, he squatted down and tugged gently at the stem, but it was firmly planted. "You mean I'm dead?"  
  
She was grinning again, watching him with the flower. "Not quite. Like that flower, you've simply been plucked. There's something you have to do here before you can move on."  
  
Vincent stood back up and frowned, feeling more and more confused. "I don't understand."  
  
"Chaos needs a trial before it can be sentenced," Aeris continued, her girlish charm suddenly fading to be replaced by a maturity that seemed to go beyond her years. "As the host you need to testify. Unlike a regular possession Chaos was put into you, so its guilt has to be determined before a punishment can be decided on." Abruptly, her smile returned, and she was the young woman he remembered again. "Does that explain things a little better?"  
  
He was still feeling shaken, he realized, and it was making it difficult to sort out his thoughts. "So, I've been taken out of my body to help pass judgement on Chaos?" When Aeris nodded, he frowned again. "What happens when that's done? Where will I go?"  
  
Aeris gave a sudden sigh and bent to wave her hand through the grass. "That's not up to me," she admitted. "If it were..." She glanced at him. "...I'd just let you go back into your body to stay with that woman."  
  
Vincent blinked, wondering how she'd known about Elira. But he passed up the question in favour of another one. "But I was dying. How could I be sent back?"  
  
"That's the problem." She stood again and absently straightened the red jacket. Vincent had the sudden impression, as strange as it seemed, that she hadn't worn this form for awhile and was simply doing it for his comfort. "I can't fix your body. So, it's not up to me whether or not you go back. I'm just here to bring you to the trial."  
  
"Who is it up to?"  
  
She gave a smaller smile, and this one seemed a little sad. "In the end, it's up to her, whether she realizes it or not."  
  
He frowned again. "Who? Elira?"  
  
Aeris raised her thin eyebrows. "Elira. That's a pretty name." And then she nodded. "Yes, it's up to her. At least, I think so. There haven't been many cases like you, you know."  
  
"But what does she have to do?"  
  
"Something she's probably done or refused to do already. I'm sorry, Vincent, I can't say anymore. It's time to begin."  
  
And, suddenly, he was standing in a room. Unlike the cold sharpness of a court room, this was like an old antechamber with curving buttresses and crafted arches over the doorways. There were no lamps or light fixtures that he could see, but it was not dark in the least sense of the word. It wasn't until later that he realized there weren't even any shadows.  
  
Aeris was nowhere in sight, but there were others seated at a long table across the room. They seemed to be examining him, though he sensed no hostile intent from them. And then one of them stood.  
  
"Vincent Valentine," the man greeted him with a smile. He was young, Vincent thought, but as with Aeris he carried an impression of maturity and understanding. "You've been brought here to give witness against Chaos. Do you accept this obligation?"  
  
Vincent hesitated a moment. "Yes." Dream or no, he felt compelled to answer.  
  
The man turned his head and Vincent followed his gaze rightward until he realized that he was looking at the second participant in the trial.  
  
It was Chaos. But, unlike the demon who had possessed his body and mind for forty years, this being seemed dark and insubstantial, like a flickering shadow. The only shadow in the room. It had also been bound up with a long white chain, though Vincent knew without having to be told that the chain was just a visible suggestion of the imprisonment Elira had enforced with her words. Angrily, it glared at him with immaterial crimson eyes, though it seemed unable to open its mouth.  
  
"Chaos," the man began, "you have been bound and cast out according to the law of the scriptures. You will now stand trial in order to determine your punishment."  
  
The demon glared at the man, but was still unable to speak. And then the man sat down again. "Let's begin the trial. First questions to the human, Vincent Valentine."  
  
One of the women stood, and he noticed that they were all wearing white robes. "This is really no more than formality, but please answer as truthfully as you can," she said to him in a pleasant, bell-like voice. "Was it due to the efforts of the human Hiram Hojo that you became possessed with Chaos?"  
  
It was gradually becoming clear that this was no dream or delusion. Vincent pursed his lips and, as his mind finally began to clear, realized he was a party in this whether he completely understood or not. "Yes."  
  
The woman glanced at the demon. "Chaos, what do you have to say in your defense?"  
  
Suddenly given voice, the demon snarled with an almost tangible hatred, "You know the anssswer already. Why do you even asssk?"  
  
The woman didn't give any hint to suggest impatience or offense. "You know the answer to that. You know our rules. Defend yourself, or simply accept the court's decision."  
  
Chaos seethed a moment. "Yesss," it responded with unwilling calmness, "that wasss the cassse. You don't imagine I would have gone willingly into that fool, do you?"  
  
Too used to the demon's abuse, Vincent automatically ignored the insult. The woman, however, said, "Beware, Chaos, of saying too much. You could have gone willingly to escape the punishment given by the Chosen One. Did Hiram Hojo request you by name?"  
  
Vincent glanced to his right, suddenly curious to know something about the possession that had happened so long ago. Chaos hissed quietly to itself for a moment before growling, "Yesss, of courssse he did. Why wouldn't he have chosssen me?"  
  
The woman sat down without answering and, after a moment, another man stood. He seemed older than the others, but Vincent wasn't sure what gave the impression of age. "Vincent Valentine, you may be able to clear this up. Do you recall whether Hiram Hojo requested Chaos by name?"  
  
Vincent wasn't anxious to get into those memories, but his mind was already going back to Nibelheim, to the basement, to the cold slab at his back and the shame of being naked and exposed, powerless and dehumanized. He'd always thought it a blessing that there was much his mind had blocked from that time, but now it seemed like an obstacle to justice. "No, I don't recall," he answered eventually. And, abruptly, he was craving the comfort and solidity of Elira's hand in his. This was followed by the sudden aching need to know how she'd reacted to his death, if she was all right. With a breath, he dared to interrupt the proceedings. "Please, do you know what's become of..." Would they even know who she was? "...of the human, Elira Maddison?"  
  
The man's face showed some regret as he shook his head. "We don't know. That will have to be taken care of afterward. But if you want, there is a way to speed this up."  
  
Vincent nodded without asking for an explanation. The man turned to another young woman at the table and gestured for her to stand. She did, and then she moved around the table. Vincent had to fight the urge to back away from her as she approached. She stopped about a foot from him and smiled a little. "So much fear, and so many barriers. You'll have to relax. I'm going to go into your memories to see if they can tell us what you can't."  
  
Vincent made the conscious effort to put down his guard. As the woman raised a hand to his face, however, he couldn't help tensing again. The woman chuckled a little. "Close your eyes, if it'll help."  
  
He did as she suggested, and a moment later there were bits and pieces of his past coming vividly to mind. She seemed to be sifting through periods of heightened emotion and he was suddenly confronted by faces he didn't know, events he couldn't recall. Once or twice, he saw the woman he considered to be his mother, but nothing linked her conclusively. Then the day he'd completed his first kill for the Turks and the subsequent night of vomiting and cold sweats, the first time he'd seen Lucrecia, their first bittersweet coupling, confronting Hojo and then...  
  
She began to move a little slower as they arrived at the memory and Vincent instinctively shied away from it. The woman stopped and, as if hoping to relax him again, she brought to life a memory of Elira smiling up at him, her eyes twinkling. 'Think of her.' The woman's voice was soothing. 'The sooner we get through this, the sooner you'll know what's become of her.'  
  
Vincent complied and let the woman continue. Silently, he suffered through the recollection of how he'd failed Lucrecia as Hojo pulled the gun and fired. And then, in a fog of pain and something close to insensibility, the truth came clear, there in his subconscious. Hojo's voice muttering some kind of incantation in another language and then the agony of violation as he'd been given over to the demons...  
  
The memory faded abruptly and Vincent gasped as he came back to himself. The woman was nodding in satisfaction and then she turned back to the table. Once she'd returned to her place, she said to the others, "There was no specific mention of Chaos in the conjuration."  
  
As she sat, the older man spoke again. "Chaos, you have been named a willing participant in the possession of the human, Vincent Valentine. Therefore, you will be held accountable for every act of violence causing injury or death."  
  
Chaos gave something that was nearly a scream. "The human enjoyed what I gave him! He reveled in the death! Asssk him! He can't deny it!"  
  
Vincent felt an immediate pang of shame, but the man only said, "This is your trial, Chaos, not his. You are hereby banished to dry and dusty places where you will have no contact with any of your kind again."  
  
The demon gave a sudden wrathful, frightened shriek, but it was cut short as its voice was taken away. And then, it was abruptly gone from the room. Vincent turned back to the others, the Cetra, wondering what was to become of him, but as his eyes came to rest on the place where the table had been he saw that he was in the field again. Surprised, he glanced around, looking for Aeris, or anyone. But he was alone.  
  
"Vincent."  
  
It wasn't Aeris' voice this time. It almost wasn't a voice at all, just an awareness of someone speaking. A very powerful someone. And Vincent had the sense that this present non-presence had been here all along. He was disconcerted for a moment not to hear his heart pounding with fear. "Who are you?"  
  
"You've already guessed who I am." The voice sounded amused and the grass rustled around him like whispering laughter. "And you're right. I am the Guardian of both the Promised Land and the Lifestream."  
  
Vincent swallowed hard. "What..." His voice had faded to a husk. Flustered, he cleared his throat. "What do you want with me?"  
  
Another impression of warm amusement. "Not what you seem to think. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to answer a prayer."  
  
"A prayer?"  
  
"You once prayed for death, didn't you?"  
  
He remembered the day again, on his knees far from anywhere with the unforgiving metal of a barrel against his temple. 'Please, let me die...' The sound of the gunshot echoed around him for a moment, and then was gone. He swallowed again. "That was over ten years ago."  
  
"True. But everything comes in its proper time."  
  
He wanted to protest. He wanted to say that this wasn't the proper time, that he'd changed his mind, that he wanted another chance. But he knew that, in the end, he didn't deserve one. And if this Guardian knew anything about him, it had to know what he'd done.  
  
"Didn't I say I wasn't here to judge you?" Another breeze rippled through the grass until it was picking at his hair and clothing. And suddenly he was standing in the Cetra temple again.  
  
And there was Elira, kneeling on the dais over his body as she pushed on his chest, her expression tight with a fierce hope. She hadn't left as she'd promised and he began to feel an awed reverence for her as she tried and tried to resuscitate him without any indication that she was succeeding.  
  
"She is persistent, isn't she?"  
  
It was one of the reasons he loved her, he realized. "She promised to leave," he found himself whispering aloud.  
  
"Could you really have expected any less than this from her?"  
  
And he knew that he couldn't have. Hastily, he made his way to the dais and crouched down beside her. "Elira," he said softly, staring at the side of her face as she pushed at his chest, almost gasping with the effort. "Elira, can you hear me?" He put out a hand to touch her shoulder, but it went through her as if she was only air.  
  
"She can't, unfortunately."  
  
And Vincent felt a wave of anger. "Then what did you bring me here for?" he shouted toward the ceiling. There was no echo from the walls.  
  
"Don't let your anger get the better of you." The voice was firm and Vincent suddenly felt ashamed of his outburst. "She has also been praying. At different times she has prayed for help, for your protection, for her own protection, and for the return of your life."  
  
Was this what Aeris had been talking about, what Elira had already done or refused to do? "Is that the prayer you're going to answer?"  
  
"It is, if you're willing to take advantage of a second chance. There is still much fear in you, and much guilt. What you have done will always be a burden on your conscience, but you have now died to that old life. A new life requires a new mindset, and that won't be easy. But she has forgiven you..."  
  
With a sudden inhalation, Elira leaned down and began to breathe into his mouth. More than anything, Vincent found himself wanting to go back so he could open his eyes and watch her face light up as she realized that her tenacity had paid off. He couldn't stand the thought of letting her down when she was trying so hard.  
  
"...and she won't give up on you. But you need to be willing to forgive yourself. She can teach you, if you'll let her."  
  
There were so many things she could probably teach him about courage and risks and willingness, he thought. If only he'd met her forty or fifty years ago.  
  
Though everything came in its proper time.  
  
"Life and death are before you, Vincent. What is your choice?"  
  
Elira hadn't left as she'd promised. As hopeless as it should have seemed from her end, she'd chosen to stay and try to bring him back to life. She was so strong, so stubborn...and, somehow, she'd fallen in love with him. He had the feeling, no matter what he answered, she would never quit -- against all odds, she would find a way to bring him back.  
  
So, who was he to gainsay her?  
  
***  
  
Elira was starting to feel faint and her fingers and toes were prickling with pins-and-needles from the forced state of near-hyperventilation, but she resolutely ignored the discomfort. Nothing was going to make her stop until he either came back or she thought of something else she could do. And so far this was still the best course of action she could come up with. Growing up by the ocean had shown her the magic of CPR more than once. Any minute...any minute now. All despair and fear and grief had been swallowed up in this blinding ray of hope that said all she had to do was perservere and believe, and Fate would honour her effort. And there was comfort in knowing that it was out of her hands and all she had to do was wait...  
  
So it almost didn't surprise her when Vincent finally sucked in a heavy breath on his own and began to cough. She simply grinned and let the tears come as she sat up with a hand over his heart to feel it beating. When he met her eyes a few moments later as the coughing fit subsided, she realized that she was even laughing a little. "Welcome back," she whispered to him.  
  
He managed to twitch a corner of his mouth in response. Exhausted and icy cold to her touch, she could see that it was all he could do not to slip into unconsciousness. Quickly, she pulled the blanket out of the tent at his back and tucked it in around him. "Don't fall asleep," she warned him, though she imagined he probably knew as well as she did what would happen if he did: cold inside and out from nearly half an hour of being dead, it would be too easy for him to slip back off the mortal coil if he drifted into insensibility.  
  
"I don't know if I can help it," he admitted through bluish lips. "But I'm trying..."  
  
"Keep trying, then. Don't give in." Hastily, she glanced around, wondering what else she could do to warm him. When she finally had an idea, she put it into action before her mind could talk her out of it. It wasn't like they hadn't been naked together before she told herself wryly as she slipped under the blanket and started to remove her clothing.  
  
"Elira...?"  
  
"Body heat," she explained quickly, shivering a little as she slipped out her pants and started working on the buttons of his shirt. 'I wish it wasn't so drafty in here,' she thought to herself as goosebumps prickled up and down her arms. This was probably going to be very uncomfortable for a little while.  
  
Vincent didn't protest as she slipped him out of his pants, or when she moved to lie on top of him. The first touch of his icy skin on her own, however, made her hiss and cringe away. "Oh god, you're cold!"  
  
"'M sorry."  
  
She laughed a little, grimacing as she forced herself down again. "Don't be. It's not your fault." She began to rub his skin with her hands and then glanced up to see that he'd closed his eyes again. "Vincent?"  
  
His eyelids snapped open. "I'm trying," he murmured as he blinked lazily, fighting against the pull of cold exhaustion. "I'm so tired."  
  
"I know, but don't go to sleep." She pressed her cheek against his icy chin, trying to think of things that might keep him awake. "Talk to me or something."  
  
"Mm. Don't know any pillow talk."  
  
She couldn't help a small, breathless laugh. How could he make jokes at a time like this? "That's not what I mean. Tell me..." She chewed her lip for a moment before plunging ahead. "Tell me what happened to you. What's the afterlife like?"  
  
He seemed to sigh a little and it was a few seconds before he began to speak in a rough, tired voice, his eyes open toward the ceiling. "I don't know. I didn't go into the Lifestream. The Cetra were having a trial for Chaos and they brought me to the Promised Land to testify."  
  
"The Promised Land?"  
  
"Yes." He briefly described the field and the trial and Elira could almost picture it all happening. As he began telling her about the voice of the Guardian, however, his breath hitched and he gave a small moan of pain. Elira watched in concern as he frowned. "What's wrong?"  
  
"My skin...is starting to burn."  
  
She thought it was probably a good sign that he was getting some feeling back, but she wasn't sure what she could do about the pain. Pursing her lips in sympathy, she began to rub her hands over his sides again. When he hissed sharply through his teeth she cringed a little. "Sorry, did that hurt?"  
  
"It's all right. The pain will keep me awake."  
  
Grimacing with him, Elira continued the brisk massage until she could actually feel warmth returning to his skin. "So, what happened next? You heard a voice and..."  
  
He gave a small grunt of acknowledgment or discomfort, she couldn't tell which, and looked back at the ceiling. "It gave me a choice, life or death," he told her in a clipped, strained voice.  
  
Elira parted her lips in surprise and unconsciously slowed her hands. The power over life and death. Was it possible? "Was the voice...Fate?" she wondered aloud.  
  
Vincent glanced at her and she saw one of his eyebrows twitch. "It called itself the Guardian of the Lifestream and the Promised Land, but I suppose it could have many names." He gave another grunt as she began massaging again and she gentled her touch out of sympathy. After a moment, however, Vincent's expression tightened with something that was almost a frown and she felt him tremble a little beneath her. "Ah, wait. That tickles."  
  
Elira couldn't help her grin. "It'll keep you awake at least."  
  
He tried to glare at her, but it didn't have quite the same effect without the old red of his eyes, and especially considering that his lips were contorting into an unwilling smile. "I think I preferred the pain," he told her, and there was a plaintive note to his voice.  
  
She laughed and placed a kiss to his chin. "All right. I'm sorry." Parts of her felt numb and she pulled at the blanket, trying to ward off the chill of the room. "How are you feeling?" she asked as she tucked the edges in around his body, trying to make sure he was completely covered.  
  
"Warmer," he admitted.  
  
She smiled in some relief. "Then, I think it's probably safe for you to sleep."  
  
He gave a small nod, but instead of closing his eyes he spent a few moments just looking at her. The open, unapologetic observation made her feel a little self-conscious at first, but she didn't look away. And soon, she was even smiling, her mouth twitching wider as he smiled back. Then his smile faded and something honest and grateful in his gray eyes made her throat tighten.  
  
"Thank you," he whispered, "for staying."  
  
Her eyes were suddenly filled with tears and she was powerless to keep them in check. "Oh Vincent." She lay her cheek back against his chin and reveled in the feel of his breath against her skin. 'I love you.' She wanted to say it. She wanted to scream it. But she'd said it once already and she didn't want to make him uncomfortable by saying it too often when it was possible he didn't feel the same way for her. "You're welcome," she told him instead.  
  
It wasn't long before he fell to sleep. Elira told herself as she looked down at him in the fading afternoon light that she would stay awake to make sure he was warm enough. But the cold was taking its own toll on her and within a couple of hours, as the sun set, she finally drifted off with her head on his shoulder. 


	32. Love Reaction

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Thirty-One: Love Reaction  
  
by thelittletree  
  
Convinced of my deception / I've always been a fool / I fear this love reaction / Just like you said I would / A rose could never lie / About the love it brings / And I could never promise / To be any of those things  
  
If I was not so weak / If I was not so cold / If I was not so scared of being broken / Growing old / I would be / I would be  
  
Frail  
  
---Jars of Clay  
  
Elira woke once in the night as Vincent shivered beneath her in his sleep. One blanket was definitely not enough protection against the drafts in this place, but it comforted her to feel the heat of blood rushing under his skin where she lay warming him. No longer frozen, he was just cold from the air, and she woke him to help him carefully back into his clothing before slipping into her own. Once she'd finished, though, she found herself hesitating. Would he accept her closeness again? Should she just lie down beside him? Soon, however, the question became delightfully academic. Like someone gravitating toward a flame in the cold, his hands fumbled for her, trying to pull her back against him. And, with a contented sigh, she nestled herself into his embrace for the remainder of the night.  
  
When she opened her eyes again, hours later, it was still dark and Vincent seemed to be asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly below her. A quick touch to the skin of his neck reassured her that she'd kept him warm enough. With a sigh, she gingerly made herself comfortable and allowed the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat to lull her into a half-dozing state. It wasn't likely that she would drift off again, but she resolved to let him rest for as long as he could. After yesterday, he certainly needed it.  
  
'Over,' she mulled to herself. 'It's all over.' And it was almost too much to believe. After weeks of looking toward this day, they were finally here, both alive and on the other side without Chaos. In the cool, hazy hours before dawn it still felt slightly unreal, like a dream. But Vincent was real, breathing beneath her, and the thought made her eyes ache again with tears of joy. He was alive and he no longer had anything to fear. Now he could begin to live.  
  
'My Vincent,' she said to him silently. 'I won you back. You're mine now, and I'm going to make you so happy.' She wondered with a wan, weary smile what he would think of her claim. He still wouldn't want to be alone, so maybe he would stay with her even if he didn't love her. It was all she wanted, she recognized with a short-lived twinge of contrition at her own foolish heart. It almost didn't matter if he loved her or not, as long as he stayed with her.  
  
'Please stay, Vincent. Just like this, forever...'  
  
It was a selfish desire, of course, but it hurt to think that he might want to use his freedom for something other than living with her. Though it was an entirely possible alternative. He'd certainly made no promises to her, and they'd never talked about what would happen afterward.  
  
And maybe she hadn't really wanted to think beyond freeing him, in case it meant he would leave her. Because now he didn't have to hole away in an apartment in Neo-Midgar if he didn't want to. He could go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted.  
  
If he let her, she would even follow him, no matter what he did or where he went. It frightened her a little to realize what she would give up for him if she had to.  
  
The gray light of morning was just beginning to filter into the temple when he finally woke. Brought out of her thoughts by the change in his breathing, Elira shifted a little to look into his face. She smiled at him as he opened bleary eyes to reveal those beautifully strange and familiar irises. "Good morning, Vincent."  
  
He blinked once and then his lips twitched a little as he tried to nod. But then he gave a grimace and lay his head back onto the dais. Before Elira could say anything, he answered the unasked question in a quiet, rough voice. "I'm all right. Just stiff muscles from lying here all night."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't even think to put anything under your head."  
  
"Don't apologize." She saw his mouth twitch again. "You were my blanket, I wouldn't have asked you to be my pillow as well."  
  
She grinned and then noticed something unusual about his face. Raising a hand to show him what she was about to do in case he wanted to object, she put her fingers to his cheek and ran them softly over the prickle of black stubble. "You're growing a beard," she observed quietly.  
  
His eyebrows went up in surprise. "I thought I recognized that particular itch."  
  
With a smile, she began to scratch his chin. He gave a small grunt and turned his head, trying to direct her hands. She laughed a little and decided to indulge him. "So how are you feeling?" she asked him, running her nails over his jaw and down to his neck. "Besides stiff and itchy?"  
  
"Mm." He opened his eyes and licked dry lips. "Thirsty," he said.  
  
"Okay." It didn't take long to locate the water bottle, and then she was kneeling beside him, alternately trying to unscrew the cap and straighten her wrinkled clothing. "Here, can you sit up?"  
  
Without a reply, he began to try to push himself from the dais, but his muscles were obviously still recovering from the physical trauma of death and cold. His arms shuddered and eventually, with a gasp, he fell back. "Dammit," he swore softly.  
  
It surprised her. She'd only heard him swear once before, in the MiraCletus park when he'd missed the bottle. "Are you all right?"  
  
He sighed heavily to himself before giving a small nod. "This is going to be frustrating," he muttered.  
  
"Probably," Elira told him with a sympathetic half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. "But at least you're not alone."  
  
He gave no response. With her own sigh, she moved to help him to lift his head to take a sip of water. He coughed at first, but then he was drinking slowly, his throat working to swallow. Elira tried to look encouraging as she thought about the food they had in the satchel, wondering what would be both light on his stomach and easy to chew. As he finished with the water, she pulled the bottle away and took a swig for herself, trying not to think about where they were going to get more when they ran out. It was less than a quarter full now.  
  
She chose something simple to eat, but by the end of the meal Vincent was getting positively fed up with his own weakness; wisely, Elira decided to give him a little space and went to search outside for a well. If archeologists and scientists came up here to do research there had to be a water source somewhere. Eventually, she ran across a natural spring and, after testing it, she filled the bottle and headed back to the temple.  
  
Vincent was nearly hidden behind the crystal's pedestal when she returned. It was evident that he'd moved himself to sit propped up against the rock, and now he was polishing the pieces of his gun, though his movements were sluggish compared with what he'd been able to do in the forge. Elira smiled at him as she approached, but he only looked up once before continuing with his work. It wasn't until she was sitting down nearby to get herself something to eat that he spoke.  
  
"I apologize if I was short with you earlier," he told her quietly in a gruff voice.  
  
She smiled again; he seemed always discomforted by the thought that he might chase her off, despite the number of times he'd tried without success to leave her behind. "It's all right, I'd be frustrated, too. Though..." And she deliberately looked between him and the blanket he'd left behind with a grin. "...it looks like you're recovering fairly quickly."  
  
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and then gave a shrug. "I don't like being this vulnerable, so I don't plan to be this way very long."  
  
She thought he probably knew a lot about being vulnerable, after having been experimented on and then made helpless by his own negative emotions to a demon. But... "Vulnerable to what?" Chaos was gone, after all.  
  
"Everything," he answered simply, turning the barrel piece around in his fingers to inspect it before putting it down to grab another segment of the gun.  
  
Elira considered him for a few moments while she ate. Still so afraid of being caught off guard, and she began to remember things from earlier that now seemed completely predictable: his avoidance of people, drawing away from her after getting closer again and again like he couldn't make up his mind, asking her not to touch him, covering his mouth against laughter. More than he'd feared Chaos, the fear that had been driving him from the beginning was the simple fear of losing control, of being vulnerable -- to whatever. Even her? She pursed her lips as she swallowed a bite of food. "Vincent, do you trust me?"  
  
He glanced up from his polishing, seemingly startled by the question. For a moment the expression on his face made her think he was going to ask 'Why?', but then he turned his eyes back to his work. "Yes, of course."  
  
But he wasn't meeting her gaze. At first, she was inclined to let it drop, but something about this suddenly felt very important. After a moment, she got up and walked over to him before sitting again at his side. And then she looked at the side of his face as he continued with the maintenance of his weapon. "What do you trust?" she asked him quietly.  
  
He glanced at her, his eyebrows twitching downward. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean..." And she abruptly realized she wasn't sure what she meant. With a sigh, she dropped her gaze to her hands and rubbed her fingers together as she tried to sort out her thoughts. "I mean," she began again, "do you trust me not to hurt you? Emotionally, whatever. Do you trust that I don't want anything bad to happen to you? Do you trust..." She stopped and swallowed through a constricted throat. "...my love?"  
  
His grip fumbled suddenly, but he managed to grab the piece he'd been polishing before it could fall. And then he took a breath and closed his eyes. "Elira..."  
  
"No, don't," she interrupted him. "Please, this is going somewhere and I just need you to listen for a minute. I'm sorry, I know this is making you uncomfortable, but I feel like I have to know." She was trembling beneath the surface, and there was pain there. An old, familiar pain. "This isn't about love and it isn't about trying to tie you down." As much as she wanted it to be. "It's about me being able to trust that you're not going to suddenly run and hide again without telling me." Like falling in front of a train, without a good-bye, she realized. "I don't know what you want, I don't know what you've thought about for the future, if anything. So I don't know if you're planning to leave. But if you are, I want to be able to trust that you'll tell me first, that you'll trust me enough not to..." She swallowed again. "...not to hurt you, or hate you that you'll talk to me first about it. All right?"  
  
He was staring ahead, not really looking at anything, she thought. And then he sighed with a frown and lay his head back against the pedestal. "Oh, Elira," he breathed. "You always manage to find the questions with the difficult answers."  
  
Something in her pinched, but then he was turning to look at her with those steady gray eyes and she knew he wasn't finished. "I'm sorry I hurt you before. I didn't mean to; I didn't want to. But there have been so many things..." He trailed off a moment, and Elira's mind supplemented, 'to fear.' He sighed again and put the part of his gun down to rub at his forehead beneath the bandana. "You're the first person I've trusted like this in a long time," he admitted quietly, staring down into his lap. "It's...a little disconcerting, especially when I know that you..." He paused again with a small shake of his head.  
  
"That I love you?" she suggested.  
  
He gave a slight nod.  
  
"You're afraid of love."  
  
He closed his eyes in a kind of resignation. "Wouldn't you be?" It was nearly a whisper.  
  
"Maybe." She thought she probably should have been after Eagan, but she realized that she'd trusted something in Vincent from the beginning and her heart had gone tripping over itself to follow him. "But always running away from it is the best way to make yourself miserable and lonely."  
  
"You think I don't know?" He breathed out a small laugh and slowly went back to polishing. "I've been miserable and lonely for as long as I can remember. Until..." He paused and glanced at her.  
  
'Until me,' she understood, and there was a flush climbing her neck. "But you're still afraid."  
  
He reached for another piece of his weapon. "I won't run," he told her softly. "After I've recovered, we'll go to Bone Village and wait for the barge. I..." He stopped his fingers for a second before continuing. "I don't know what I can promise after that, though...I have to admit that I would like..." He swallowed visibly. "...to stay with you."  
  
It felt like there was something blooming in her heart and there were suddenly tears coming to her eyes. Abashed, she wiped them away and chuckled when Vincent looked at her. "Sorry," she apologized. "God, I never thought I was one to cry so easily." When she glanced back at him, he was smiling a little, and then, like someone shyly offering a flower, he opened his arm to her.  
  
In a second, she was there on her knees beside him, holding him and letting her silent tears leak out into the crook of his shoulder. Awkwardly, Vincent rubbed her back with his hand and patiently waited for her to finish. When she withdrew a few minutes later, something tender in his eyes, in those wonderfully expressive gray eyes, made her ache. And she couldn't stop herself.  
  
Kissing him like this was like savoring something she'd only been allowed to sample before, constantly afraid of being caught with her hand in the cookie jar. After a few moments, however, he was gently urging her away, breathlessly saying her name to get her attention. Eventually, she made herself sit back to look into his face.  
  
He was smiling again, that little smile, and there was something meaningful in his gaze as he quietly caught his breath. "I think it might be a good idea to stop," he told her. "I can hardly move; I doubt I'm up for anything..." He made a gesture with his hand and there was a definite blush coming to his skin.  
  
Elira gave a laugh and wiped her face on the sleeves of her jacket. "Oh, if it's not one thing, it's another with you," she joked, and then as his smile twitched larger she reached out and tweaked his nose. Startled, he jerked back a little and then stared at her for a second in a kind of shocked incredulity. His expression sent her into a fit of delighted giggles that were only urged on when his mouth began to tremble and his eyes to crinkle with supressed mirth.  
  
"Oh, come on, Vincent!" she exclaimed, thrusting her hands forward toward his ribs, intending to tickle a reaction out of him. "Let loose a little!"  
  
And, with his reflexes still hampered by physical weakness, he couldn't stop her in time. Between frantic protests and his desperate but futile attempts to grab both of her wrists without using his prosthetic, there was the sound of him laughing – a deep, pleasant sound. And Elira was sure she'd never heard anything so beautiful in her life. After a few moments, she took her hands back and jumped up to run over to her pack as if afraid of retribution.  
  
Vincent was glaring at her as he pushed himself back up against the pedestal and straightened his shirt with short movements. "Don't ever do that again," he instructed her firmly.  
  
But she couldn't stop her grin. "Stick in the mud," she accused him.  
  
He rolled his eyes and went back to polishing. But before giving it his full attention he cast one more glare at her and, while he shook his head, Elira was sure she saw his lips twitch.  
  
***  
  
By the afternoon, they were leaving the temple. Elira wasn't exactly looking forward to the trek back through the Sleeping Forest, but Fate seemed to have other plans: half-way through the city an all-terrain vehicle coming up the road stopped alongside them.  
  
"Hey, Miss Maddison!"  
  
It was the man from Bone Village, Mason Lasling, and he looked covered in rock dust. Elira smiled at him. "Hello! How are you?"  
  
"Fine. I see you made it up here, you and a friend." There were two other men in the vehicle with him; the people he'd been talking about bringing with him to the city, she supposed. "How do you like it?"  
  
"It's beautiful," she told him. "I can truthfully say I have a new understanding of the Cetra." She sensed it when Vincent glanced at her and had to spend a silent moment repressing a chuckle. "So, are you heading back?"  
  
"Yep," he answered, squinting despite the shade of a battered old hat. "You, too?"  
  
She nodded and then licked her lips. "Um, is your offer of a ride still standing?"  
  
He smiled until the corners of his mouth were hidden behind the edges of his drooping mustache. "Sure. Come on, get in. There's lots of room."  
  
Elira turned to Vincent to see what he thought. For a moment he seemed undecided, but then he nodded. With a grin, she took his hand and led the way into the car. "Thank you, Mr. Lasling," she said over the sound of the motor as they drove out of the city onto a dirt path that seemed to skirt the heaviest part of the forest. "This means a lot to us."  
  
"Hey, no problem," he said over his shoulder. "People have got to help each other out in this world."  
  
And she squeezed Vincent's hand, still in her own. "I know." 


	33. One More Time

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
Chapter Thirty-Two: One More Time  
  
by thelittletree  
  
'...you need to be willing to forgive yourself...'  
  
Vincent woke suddenly and was momentarily disoriented. He was in a room, but it was not his room, or any other room he could remember waking in before. Something was also wrong with his eyes and his sense of smell, he realized shortly after and, feeling nearly blind, he pushed his way up in bed.  
  
Elira made a small sound of protest as she slipped off of his chest and after a moment her weary hands were touching him, questing over his back and abdomen as if she might find the answer for the disturbance written on his body. "Vincent?"  
  
Her voice was soft and he wouldn't have been surprised to find she was still half-asleep. "I'm sorry, Elira, go back to sleep."  
  
"Mm, what's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing." He urged her hands back and tried to see her settled again. "Just a dream."  
  
She made a drowsy sound of acknowledgment. "Do you want to..." She stopped to give a long yawn. "...talk about it?"  
  
He couldn't help a small smile. She would be drifting off again in seconds he had no doubt. "In the morning. Go back to sleep."  
  
"'Kay, if you're sure." He heard the sound of springs as she rolled over, and nearly immediately her breaths were lengthening. Carefully, he slipped out from under the blankets and then hastily pulled on his pants and shirt before stepping into his boots.  
  
The night was cool and silent and he spent a moment looking up at the stars before beginning to walk. They were not the stars of Neo-Midgar, and he unexpectedly found himself feeling a little homesick. It was an odd time to be feeling it, but he chalked it up to the fact that everything had changed. He hadn't been happy in his old life, living alone and cursed with Chaos, but at least it had been familiar. Now he was human again, with both human freedoms and limitations, and he couldn't help but feel as if he'd been picked up and plunked into another body, into another life. The Vincent Valentine of Avalanche, of Neo-Midgar had been cold and blood-stained, cursed and immortal. This Vincent Valentine...  
  
He sighed to himself as he came up to a small grove of trees just outside of Bone Village and gave into the urge to get his feet off the ground. Suddenly aware of the drop below him as never before in this frail, muscle-sore body, he climbed cautiously and then balanced himself on the lowest branch of the tree he had chosen.  
  
This Vincent Valentine was mortal, and no longer so cold and alone. And despite what he'd been told in the Promised Land, he couldn't help but believe he was still blood-stained by his past in Midgar.  
  
'...you need to be willing to forgive yourself. She can help you, if you'll let her...'  
  
But she didn't know. And the thought of telling her, of watching her mouth open in horrified disbelief as she pictured him aiming his gun at other humans, made everything in him shudder. She would...she would hate him. No matter if she'd already forgiven him, no matter if he'd told her he trusted her. She would hate him for it; she wouldn't be able to help it. And there would be a rift there between them that he could only imagine growing wider as time passed. She would eventually walk away, leaving him to gnaw on his own bitter self-hatred.  
  
He was half expecting Chaos to jump into his pain with some scathing remark but, of course, he was alone in his own mind.  
  
'I want to trust you, Elira. Gods, I want to. But how could you love me enough...'  
  
Chaos had been his punishment. Being alone forever had been his atonement. But he'd escaped it. Elira had fought alongside him for a second chance.  
  
'...to forgive something so inhuman?'  
  
A second chance he hadn't deserved. He could imagine her saying that a lot of people get things they don't deserve, good and bad. And maybe it was true. But could he just pull a blanket over all of his sins and pretend he hadn't committed them? Something within him began to ache and he winced.  
  
'It's unforgivable, Elira. How could you help me forgive myself? You would hate me if you knew.'  
  
It was the first night since they'd left the temple and he allowed himself the guilty pleasure of thinking over the evening. Their first night as real lovers, without the fear of the demon, of insubstantial fate, or of time. So there had been time to be gentle and generous, time to appreciate the different textures of skin on her body, the warmth and pressure of her mouth, the inflaming noises she made. She was so adept at making him forget everything else...  
  
Just thinking about leaving her behind felt like he was tearing out his own heart. He couldn't stand the thought of waking up without her, of not knowing that she was safe, of causing her more pain. He'd all but promised not to run, so he wouldn't. But could he lie to her at the end of all of this, to protect her and himself?  
  
'I don't deserve you, Elira. And in the end, you would hate me. It's inevitable. It would be more merciful to go and figure this out on my own, to save us both the pain. You don't need the burden of my sins...'  
  
It was strange to be able to feel the cold now, and he hadn't brought his coat. Carefully, he dropped to the ground and made his way back to the village's hotel.  
  
Elira woke again as he slipped into bed and the presence of her warm body against him and her intoxicating scent around him made the time outside seem like nothing more than another part of the dream he'd had.  
  
"Oh, you're cold," she murmured. "Where were you?"  
  
"Outside," he told her quietly. "I just went for a walk."  
  
She hummed softly and pulled him closer. "Let me warm you up." And the tone of her voice was impossible to mistake.  
  
He raised an eyebrow, ready to ask, 'Again?', but the word was soon fumbled and forgotten. Along with all thoughts and worries about what a sinner deserved.  
  
***  
  
Elira was nearly certain she'd never felt as happy as she did during the three weeks in Bone Village. Maybe the time with Eagan was a close second, but it still fell behind where it counted. Eagan had been off every day to the Metropolitan Building, talking to people, trying to gain votes. Vincent...Vincent was here with her every moment, talking with her, letting her hold his hand without the damned glove, letting her share his bed, and every day she felt like she was getting to know him better. Even when he said nothing.  
  
He didn't say so, but he liked having his hair brushed and her fingertips running along his back. He liked walking in the evenings, and when they found a deck of cards left behind in their room she discovered that he was very good at poker (though he wouldn't say where he'd learned). He liked hearing about her childhood and could really get into a conversation about the make, model, and workings of guns. He liked tea better than coffee and, besides his ribs, the backs of his knees were also deathly sensitive to her touch. Everything about him was something worthy of fascinated reflection, she thought, and she was ready to give all of the time in the world to exploring every nook and cranny.  
  
But there were times, every once in a while, where she would catch him with that brooding, world-weary look in his eyes. And, as always, he wouldn't tell her what was wrong, even when she made attempts to persuade him. It worried her a little, but most of the time she managed to push it to the back of her mind. He was here with her and it was all she wanted; she wouldn't demand more of him until he was ready to give it.  
  
Pooling their resources gave them enough to pay for the room and food without either of them having to get a job, and even when the barge came they had enough to buy supplies to last them to Neo-Midgar, if they were frugal. The trip back across the ocean was made in beautiful weather and Vincent spent most of it staring silently over the railing toward Costa Del Sol. Elira tried to make some conversation but he seemed preoccupied and she eventually left him to his thoughts. Something about his silence this time tried to call a warning to her, but she didn't heed it, brushing it off as paranoia.  
  
And, in the end, she was almost too late to recognize it.  
  
***  
  
Vincent had been fighting a war with himself for three weeks. On one side, the guilty conscience he couldn't quite repress, and on the other, the part of him that couldn't bear to leave her behind. And neither side could ever subdue the other without compunctions. He was a fool, and weak, he told himself again and again. He knew what he had to do: either tell her about his past and risk her hatred for the hope of forgiveness, or go and hope that one day he would be able to come to terms by himself with what he had done. If he was going to go, however, he knew he should explain himself first.  
  
But he was a coward; she'd been right. She'd been right about him from the beginning. He was afraid of emotional pain, afraid of watching everything slip away, afraid to trust her that much. She was the strong one, and her continued faith in him had buoyed him up more than once. And it was a faith he didn't deserve because he didn't reciprocate it. So damn jaded by the falseness he'd seen in love and humanity that he couldn't accept what she said at face value, no matter what he'd seen of her already.  
  
'Gods, Elira, I'm so sorry. I never should have let myself stay in Neo-Midgar. It would have saved you the pain of loving and losing a man who could never be worthy of you.' Her fear in the temple had been justified. She would never forgive him for this final breach of trust.  
  
They'd agreed to spend one more night in the Strifes' villa, and he thought the location ironically appropriate. Two hours after she fell asleep, when he began to feel that any longer spent looking at her, listening to her breathe, would change his mind, he got out of bed and dressed himself before collecting his things and heading to the dining room. There, he continued getting ready in the dark, cursing under his breath as he fumbled without his enhanced eyesight. It was going to be harder this time to make a life for himself when he now had to worry about things like eating and shelter and his health, but he tried not to think about it. There would be time enough for that later, when he was miserable and lonely again.  
  
He slipped into his boots and coat, and then into his pack. He was leaving her the tent and the remaining supplies, and he'd already decided that he would shadow her until she reached Neo-Midgar, just to make sure she made it all right. But tonight had been the last time she would see him -- the last time, too, he would ever feel her smile under his mouth or hear her laugh or inhale her scent as he buried his nose in her curls. Once she was back in the city, he would go and start up another life somewhere else. Maybe...maybe if he could someday forgive himself, he would come and find her again. Assuming by then that she wasn't married, or that she didn't hate him so much that she never wanted to see him again. That was a risk -- so far into the future it was hardly substantial -- he felt willing to take. Then he would deal with the pain he'd caused her. Because right now he was still too much of a coward and a fool to do it.  
  
'Good-bye, Elira. I love you. I should have told you.'  
  
He turned, ready to leave.  
  
His hearing was not what it once had been. He'd taken every precaution not to wake her. But there she was in the doorway to the dining room, dressed in a housecoat she must've purloined from somewhere. Even in the dark, he could see her trembling as silent tears slipped from her eyes.  
  
"You said..." It was hardly even a whisper. "You said you wouldn't run..."  
  
His shame threatened to swallow him whole. Death was too good a punishment for someone as wretched as he was. He was breaking her heart, and he wouldn't even be able to explain.  
  
Her face was contorted with an almost tangible grief and her shoulders were shuddering with quiet, hitching sobs, but he expected she was holding the worst of it back. Something in him was twisting, wrenching, hurting. He felt sick to his stomach with it. He was a monster, with or without Chaos.  
  
But he made himself stand against her, though it was so hard to meet her eyes when all a part of him wanted to do was find an escape. She would hate him either way, and he would rather she hated him for being a coward than a killer. "I know what I said."  
  
"Then..." He heard her teeth chatter for a moment as she shivered. "Then why are you doing this? Do you hate me so much?"  
  
He set his jaw at the stab of pain her accusation caused. "I don't hate you, Elira."  
  
But she was shaking her head and turning away, her lungs heaving with sobs she was trying to keep quiet. "You must. Why else would you do this? Why else would you plan to just leave and let me wake up alone to figure out..." She stopped suddenly as she choked on her words. "...to figure out that you'd left me? Leave me to guess why..."  
  
"Elira, you already know this has nothing to do with you..."  
  
"God!" She turned to face him and he nearly took a step back from the unmitigated rage in her expression. "How can you say that? How can you lie right to my face? Of course it has to do with me! If it didn't, why wouldn't you tell me?" She turned from him abruptly and began to sob into her hands. After a few moments, however, she managed to collect herself enough to drop her hands. "It doesn't matter." She sounded resigned and angry. "You never tell me what's wrong, why should you start now? Just go. You want to leave; I can't stop you. Just go."  
  
He was tempted, so tempted to do as she said. His mind was screaming that it was what he should do, what he'd decided to do. But his guilt was like a hot poker in his gut; he'd hurt her, he couldn't leave her like this. He would have been able to stand it if he hadn't seen her tears, if he'd been able to leave before she noticed that he was gone from the bed. But this way, it was so much harder. The last time he'd tried to leave, he'd been convinced she had Leo to run to. This time, he knew she was alone. "Elira..."  
  
"Dammit, just go!" Her vehemence startled him. "I've already said it's not about tying you down! I've never asked you to love me. I just asked you to trust me enough to tell me the truth, but..." From the back, he saw her shoulders droop as she shook her head. "But if you can't even do that, just go."  
  
Still, he didn't move, caught between love and fear. It was going to hurt her either way. If only she understood what he was trying to save her from, save them both from. But...  
  
But she didn't understand. She...she couldn't understand his motives. He loved her and he was trying to protect her, always protecting her from the ugly truth. He had the soul of a killer, he was dangerous. But she wouldn't understand. She'd always ignored or brushed off his warnings because...  
  
Because why? Because he'd deserved a second chance?  
  
Dangerous as he was? A monster? Death in a blue suit?  
  
No.  
  
Then why? Because she loved him? Who did she love? She didn't know him. She didn't know what he'd been. And if she knew, that love would turn to hate. She would hate him. She would discover that her poor, fate-trodden Vincent wasn't what he'd made himself out to be. He'd deserved everything he'd gotten. The experiments. The demon. Fate's apt punishment.  
  
And, abruptly, he realized that he was getting angry.  
  
She thought she loved him? She thought she wanted to know about Midgar, about why he was leaving? Love was so fickle, she wouldn't be able to stand the knowledge that he wasn't an innocent. All of her talk about not being afraid, of taking risks -- what would she think when she realized that he really was something to fear, that he hadn't been worth it after all?  
  
She would understand then...  
  
Something in the back of his mind was warning him against getting too angry, against saying something rash, but the sight of her standing there, so sanctimonious about her own love like it could conquer all, was disgusting him. She didn't know! Suddenly filled with a rage he couldn't stop to examine, he stepped up to grab her arm. She gasped in surprise as he swung her around to face him and something about the fear in her expression excited him. 'You'll know, Elira. And you'll regret not listening to me when I told you to leave me alone!'  
  
He let his eyes bore down into her own. "All right. You want to know why I'm leaving? I warn you, it's not a pretty reason."  
  
She tried to back up a step from him, but he kept his grip on her arm. This was what she wanted; she wanted to know. Was she already regretting the decision? It was too late now... "I told you I was dangerous, Elira. But you wouldn't believe me. You never believed me. You thought I was a human, just like you, burned by someone I loved and then left to chafe against my own cage of guilt. But I'm not like you." He realized that he was nearly seething in her face. "I worked for Shinra in Midgar, Elira. In the..." He searched his memory for the euphemism. "...the Manufacturing Department in Administrative Research." It had been there on the top of every pay stub he'd ever gotten from them, as if to deny the guns and the blue suits. It had always struck him as particularly funny, and he found himself giving a stilted chuckle through his teeth.  
  
Elira only stared at him, her eyes wide. And then she spoke, her voice quiet and still thick from crying. "I...I don't know what that means."  
  
"I wouldn't expect you to." There had even been those involved in Shinra that hadn't known. He couldn't help another stiff chuckle. "It was another name for the Turks, Elira. I was a Turk!" He could see in her face that this name also meant nothing to her and he smirked. "A hired gun; an assassin; a kidnapper; a torturer. I was all of these things, and I was one of the best they ever had. You wanted to know once where I learned to use a gun? They taught me. And I killed hundreds of people; I tortured people to death. I was a killer, Elira. And there were times I even enjoyed it!"  
  
She was trembling, staring at him in horrified denial. But it was true. It was all true. And he watched with a certain sick satisfaction as she began to cry. "Do you see, Elira? I'm not what you think I am. I've done unforgivable things! You've helped to save a cold-blooded murderer from his own sentence!"  
  
But she was shaking her head. "No. No, Vincent..."  
  
"Yes! That's who I am! A monster, a thing that deserves no pity!"  
  
"No!" With a burst of something he hadn't expected, she pulled her arm away from him and stared up into his face, a desperate fire in her eyes. "That's not who you are! You've changed! That's not who you are anymore!"  
  
But he couldn't hear it. "You don't know me!"  
  
"Yes, I do! And you're not that man anymore! That man suffered and died! You've been given a second chance so you can live it differently!"  
  
Her words were eerily reminiscent of those spoken by the being who had called itself the Guardian of the Promised Land. He'd died to his old life, and a new life required a new mindset. She'd already forgiven him it had said, even when she didn't know. But...but how was that possible? "I've never deserved a second chance!" he retorted.  
  
"That doesn't matter! That's what you've been given! Are you going to spend it punishing yourself again? And punishing me, too?"  
  
This gave him another burst of anger. "I didn't ask for your love, Elira! I didn't ask for your help! It's not my fault if..."  
  
"No, you didn't ask!" she interrupted him. "But you could've turned and walked away at any time! It was your choice, too, to get rid of Chaos! Some part of you wanted a second chance! Some part of you thought you deserved it!"  
  
He moved away from her suddenly and realized that he was shaking. No, gods, no. Where were the tranquilizers?  
  
"And now, after you worked so hard for it, after we both risked our lives, you're just going to throw it away?"  
  
He couldn't remember. He searched his pockets but they were empty. Why weren't they prepared?  
  
"Vincent!" Elira was suddenly there in front of him, beautiful and terrible, the robe forgotten in her anger and hanging open to show the barest hints of her body in patches of moonlight. "I could understand it if you were leaving me because you don't love me, but don't leave to go and hole yourself up somewhere again for something that doesn't matter anymore! I love you, and I can't stand the thought of you doing that! I don't care what you've done in any lifetime!" Her hands were suddenly there on his forearms, gripping him as if to keep him from turning away again.  
  
And it was overwhelming: the fear of Chaos, the crushing guilt over his past, the anger at Elira's stubbornness, the mix of emotions at her proclamation of love despite everything he'd done, and the sudden feeling of being restrained. And he could feel something snapping inside him. His mind screamed for escape and, like breaking through a barrier, he recoiled from Elira's touch. Dimly, he heard her cry out, and then he was stumbling back into the table, hearing his own heavy breaths before he could recognize the ache in his eyes.  
  
And then he felt the first tear trickle down the side of his nose. Surprised, he lifted his hand up to brush it away. Elira had managed to convince him at one point to get rid of his glove, and now he rubbed the moisture together in his fingers. Something he'd heard somewhere was suddenly there in his mind.  
  
'...out of every creature on the planet, only humans can cry...'  
  
Another tear slipped down, this time skimming his cheek, and then another followed. As he worked to repress the unexpected reaction, his anger began to fade. No Chaos, he realized. 'Of course not. He's gone. Why did I think...?'  
  
Elira was giving slightly panicked breaths from somewhere near him, he recognized suddenly, and he felt a twisting sense of shame for what he'd done. His self-loathing was not her problem or her fault, and after everything she'd done for him he'd repaid her with anger and blame like the ungracious bastard he was. "Elira..."  
  
And then, even without an enhanced sense of smell, he could detect the all-too-familiar scent of blood in the air. 'Oh gods...what have I done?'  
  
He found her standing near one of the walls, slightly hunched over and trying not to cry. "I think it's just a scratch," she rasped to him, and even in the dark he could see that she had her left hand up and covering her right collarbone. Hastily, he ducked away and searched in frustrated alarm for a light-switch somewhere. When he eventually found one a few seconds later, he punched it firmly and dashed back to Elira's side to try and pry her hand away.  
  
The wound was long and thin, curving a little from the top of her breast to a spot about an inch from her neck, and though it bled profusely it wasn't deep. It looked as if she'd been cut with a knife, but Vincent knew better. There, on the tip of one metal finger, was a tinge of red. He stared at it and swallowed back a sudden bout of nausea as he realized that another inch closer, another inch to the right, and he might've given her a much more serious injury. "Elira...I..."  
  
She glanced into his face and tried to give him what he imagined was supposed to be a quick, reassuring smile. "It's all right. It's just a scratch," she said again, and then she was slipping out of the robe, although the right side was already a little blood-stained. "I should probably get something to stop the bleeding," she murmured as if to herself, and then she was walking toward the kitchen.  
  
Vincent followed her, feeling a little useless as she first rinsed the blood off her hands and then reached into a cupboard for a roll of paper towels. When she'd ripped a square off and folded it, she pressed it to her chest. "There," she said, and she was trying to smile again. "No big deal."  
  
He was still shaking, he realized. So fragile... He could've killed her with his reckless action. He was dangerous.  
  
And yet, here she still stood, strong despite her fear and smiling a forgiveness he didn't deserve. She...she loved him, and he suddenly remembered his own love for Lucrecia, once upon a time, that had allowed him to forgive her for everything she'd ever done to hurt him. A love that had bordered on obsession, ready to do anything for her, even at the expense of his own life.  
  
'Oh Elira, no...I don't deserve that kind of devotion...'  
  
But, gods, he wanted it. He understood now how she could forgive him. He understood that kind of love.  
  
And he'd almost turned away, almost repeated what Lucrecia had done to him, leaving him to pine with an unrequited passion that had nearly consumed him. 'Oh Elira...'  
  
Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he was pulling her into a tight embrace and burying his face into her soft, scented curls. "I'm sorry, Elira. I'm so sorry..." He felt like he was cracking under the burden of guilt, and the tears were there again; he didn't understand why, but he thought he might have been crying for everything: all of the pain he'd caused her, the spiral of rejected agony he'd suffered through and had almost forced her into, all of the things that had been lost and gained when everything had changed, the fact that he wasn't the man she deserved.  
  
She slipped her small hands inside his coat and tried to rub his back through his shirt. "It's okay," he heard her whisper. "It's okay."  
  
It wasn't okay, though. Not yet. But she could help him, the Guardian had said, and he knew it had been right. Her love, her faith in him...if anyone could help him use this second chance to make up for the life of sin and pain he'd lived, it was her. And he promised her silently that she would never have to be afraid of being hurt again.  
  
After a few moments, Elira was stirring and he let her withdraw enough to look into his face. There were tears on her own cheeks, but she ignored them in favour of lifting a hand to wipe his away. "Oh, Vincent..." She sniffled quietly, and then her eyes traveled down to the front of his coat. "Oh, god, I'm sorry." The paper towel had fallen off of her wound and she quickly glanced around for it. "I bled on you."  
  
The triviality of the fact made him smile a little as he located the towel and bent down to pick it up for her. "It doesn't matter, Elira." He placed it back over the cut and waited until she had a hold of it to let go. "It's just a coat."  
  
"I know, but, here..." She began to pull at the straps of his pack. "I know how to get blood stains out."  
  
The statement startled him with its appropriateness and something ached in him as he looked down at her sincere expression. Oh, how he loved her, and she had no idea... But now there was no fear -- not of fate, not of Chaos, not of love -- and he thought he'd never felt so absolutely released. Quickly, he pulled her back into his arms and held on. "Elira..." he whispered, and though a part of him wondered if he could say it, he knew that he had nothing to be afraid of. "Elira, I love you."  
  
She stiffened at first in what he expected was surprise, and then she was holding him tightly with trembling muscles. After almost a minute, he began to wonder if she ever intended to let go, but then she was muttering something into his shoulder. "Does this..." She paused to clear a throat still thick with weeping. "Does this mean you're not leaving?"  
  
He couldn't help a small, breathless chuckle and he pulled back to look into her face. "What do you think?"  
  
Her trembling lips opened in a teary grin and she managed a quick sob of laughter before her expression crumbled with hurt anger and she lowered her forehead to his chest. "Don't ever do that again," she told him quietly. "Don't ever try to leave like that again."  
  
"I won't. I promise."  
  
It was another moment before she sighed and he felt the tension drain out of her. And then she raised her head and there was a half smile on her face. "Now, get out of all that get-up and come back to bed."  
  
And Vincent, trained in the Turks to recognize an order when he heard it, hastened to comply.  
  
***  
  
Little author's note here. Thanks so much for reading (and reviewing, if you did!) Means so much. This story was so much fun to do the first time I wrote it, and then during the overhauling rewrite, and then in this editing stage. Wonder if I'll ever be able to let it go... Well, you know what they say: you never forget your first.  
  
Thanks again, beautiful audience, previous and (possibly) future! Ciao! 


	34. An Author's Abject Apology

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent for this story, but he's not mine to keep. All characters not in the game are mine, so if anybody else wants to use 'em (god only knows why) they gotta ask me first. Thanks. Now, read.  
  
***  
  
An Author's Abject Apology  
  
by thelittletree, with a little help from the inestimable Mr. Vincent Valentine  
  
***  
  
"You want me to do what again?"  
  
Little Tree put a hand on her hip and sighed, twisting a stray piece of nondescript brown hair between her fingers for a moment before putting it into her mouth. "Please? They'll get mad at me, but they all *love* you!"  
  
Vincent sighed and stared a moment at the piece of paper he held before giving a hard exhale. "All right. But I want you to keep your promise."  
  
Little Tree smiled a little, knowing she had won. "Of course."  
  
He glanced to his right before finally taking the necessary steps out onto the stage. The chairs on the floor in front of him were all empty, but Little Tree had told him his audience was an invisible one on something called the 'Internet'. Whatever that was. Quietly, he cleared his throat and looked down at the page. "Addressing all readers of 'Does Fate Allow a Second Chance?': Little Tree regrets to announce that she..." He squinted and then shook his head.  
  
Little Tree peeked out from around the curtain. "What's wrong?"  
  
He blinked and held the paper a little closer to his face. "I can't read your writing."  
  
She gave a scoff and stomped onto the stage beside him. "Gimme that!" She plucked the page out of his hand and tried to find the ostensibly scribbled word. "That one?" She pointed it out. "You can't read that?"  
  
He crossed his arms over his chest. "What does it say?"  
  
Little Tree looked back at the word. "Will."  
  
"Will?"  
  
"Doesn't it look like 'will'?"  
  
"No."  
  
She sighed again and, handing him the paper, snapped her fingers. "There. Type-written. Better?"  
  
He frowned in confusion at the page. "How did you do that?"  
  
"I'm the writer, remember? I thought we went over this. I can do anything I want."  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her and she lifted her hand, ready to snap again. "Proof?" She clicked her fingers together and suddenly Elira was standing there beside her, one hand out as if she'd been about to grab something. And then she started and looked around. "What...? Where am I?" She glanced to her right and blinked. "Vincent?"  
  
Page forgotten, Vincent walked up to stand beside Elira, reaching out a comforting, protective hand to her shoulder, and then he glared at Little Tree. "Why did you do that?"  
  
"To show you I could. Hello, Elira."  
  
Elira was staring out at the empty chairs, but she turned back suddenly as she was addressed. "How did I get here? Who are you?"  
  
Little Tree smirked. "Ever the curious one. I'm Little Tree, the author of the fic you were just in. The apartment I just pulled you out of? That's part of the story."  
  
"I...I don't understand."  
  
"That's all right, you don't have to. Back you go!" She snapped her fingers and Elira vanished from the stage. Vincent started a little and then opened his mouth as if to speak.  
  
"She's all right," Little Tree assured him hastily. "Right back where you left her, and probably scrounging for ice cream and pickles."  
  
Vincent frowned. "Ice cream and...pickles?"  
  
"You'll understand later. It's what comes from not using protection."  
  
"Protection against what?"  
  
Little Tree smiled mysteriously. "You'll understand later, I said. Geez. Now, read. Everyone's waiting."  
  
Vincent seemed ready to demand that she stop being so cryptic, but then he shook his head in resignation and faced out from the stage again. "All right. Little Tree regrets to announce that she will not be writing an epilogue to her story due to the fact that she feels saying anything else would be superfluous. The story is complete, and, though she tried to keep writing, her muse wouldn't cooperate. So, no epilogue. She sends an apology to everyone who was expecting one and hopes they can find it in their hearts to forgive her."  
  
Little Tree glanced at him from where she'd been standing with her head cocked, listening. "Is that all of it?"  
  
"Yes, every letter, space, and period." He handed the paper back and looked at her expectantly.  
  
"Oh, all right." She snapped her fingers again and suddenly he was holding the Death Penalty in his hands. Quickly, he ran his palm over it as if to check for damage, and then raised it on his arm to aim at a chair on the floor.  
  
Little Tree cringed, realizing what he was about to do. "No!"  
  
But it was too late. He'd already pulled the trigger and the chair exploded in a shower of stuffing. Little Tree watched with straining forbearance as pieces floated to the floor. And then she scowled at her favourite Final Fantasy VII character, trying to stay mad as he twitched his lips in his almost-smile. "Vincent," she chided. "Have a little respect for other people's property, would you?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
***  
  
Kay, maybe I'll stop drinking coffee on an empty stomach :P  
  
Sorry everybody! No epilogue! I tried, I really did, but nothing was right! So...you can guess what happens next, right? They go back to Neo-Midgar and live their lives as happily as anyone can. The End! Thanks so much to all of you! You were so encouraging, and getting up every morning after posting to check my email for reviews was something I seriously looked forward to! I'm going to miss it! Thanks again so very much for reading my little fic!  
  
PS/ I'm a terrible perfectionist. I've already started editing the chapters, so I'm gonna be reposting them. Same story, tiny adjustments. Thank you. 


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